You Can't Spell Subtext
by LadyTuesday
Summary: 5 Times Dean Fucked with Cas, and the 1 Time Cas Fucked Back. The first time it happens, it's a genuine accident. He doesn't mean to think of Cas while whacking it. But as he lays on the bed recovering from a mind-blowing orgasm after having a fantasy about the angel and he's pretty sure Cas mentally witnessed said fantasy, Dean can't help thinking ... this could be FUN.
1. Chapter 1

I have returned to the world of fan fic after a completely ridiculous dry spell from my muse! This is a 5+1, as you can see from the subtitle in the summary. Ever since Cas said to Claire in season 10 that he could "hear" not just prayers but _longing_ too, this little plot bunny has been hopping around my brain NONSTOP. This a complete work that will be released a chapter at a time. The first three chapters will be one "time" of the 5+1 apiece, but the later chapters seem to have developed a plot along with the smut. This first chapter is just a palette teaser, so expect future chapters to be progressively longer!

Also, many thanks and huge kudos to my beta, skeptikitten, who also happens to be my sister. Is it weird to have your sister proof-read your smut? She is the one who got me hooked on SPN and Destiel, so I blame/thank her. You should too (by reading her stuff, if you like Deathnote or Hetalia). ^_^

Enjoy,

~~ ** Lady Tuesday ** ~~

 **Dean Fucks With Cas, Take 1 – Hand-to-Hand Combat**

The first time it happens, it's a genuine accident. Dean takes the opportunity of Sam's extended trip to the library due to shitty Wi-Fi at their hole-in-the-wall motel as an excuse for a little personal "hand-to-hand combat". His mind wanders in a completely random, not-at-all-planned direction by sheer happenstance; he'd swear to it on a stack of bibles. He doesn't _mean_ to think of Cas while whacking it. He intends to think of Cassidy or Cassandra or whatever the actual fuck her name is, the tasty brunette front-end manager for the B&B they're currently investigating. He's muttering to himself as he stretches out on the bed, blunt fingernails scraping across the front of his jeans just at his zipper, and out the name comes as if it's the most natural thing in the world.

" _Cas_ ," he whispers, feeling a jump of excitement as his blood surged. He palms his blossoming erection. " _Cas …."_

Dean knows a moment of complete panic as his brain catches up with his mouth and he considers what he's just said. Before he can stop himself, Dean realizes that he's been glancing around the room as if afraid to be 'caught in the act'. He chuffs out a breath, irritated at his own paranoia, and then ponders where his thoughts have gone. It wasn't intentional. He hasn't ever really even thought about Cas that way before – certainly not consciously – so for the angel's name to come tumbling out of Dean's mouth just as he settles down for a good hard wank session is more than a little weird.

But ….

 _Well_ ….

Hey, anybody who says that they've never even _considered_ experimenting is probably fucking lying, and that whole "profound bond" thing has to have _something_ to it, right? So as much as it makes his throat hitch with nervousness, Dean forces himself to settle back onto the pillow, one arm cushioned under his head. Since Sammy will be gone for at least an hour or two, and really, he's safe inside his own head, Dean gives himself permission to think about it.

And boy, does he ever.

His pulse spikes pretty much immediately as he considers those bright blues eyes that tear through him with laser intensity. Eyelids fluttering shut, Dean grazes his palm against the fly of his jeans, his erection building as he imagines the angel's acute stare directed at him, glazed over with lust. He gasps in a breath and chafes his hand over his pants more firmly, letting his thoughts drift towards slim, graceful fingers and how they would feel against the hot skin of his abdomen. He lowers the zip on his fly, pushing jeans and boxers down below his hips in one swift movement. In his head, the hand wrapping around his achingly hard erection is pale and slender but strong, cool against his heated skin, and Dean can't help the way his hips leave the mattress as he thrusts into his own palm.

" _Cas…."_

The word seems to be pulled from his lips unknowingly this time, and his head buzzes with sudden awareness. Dean moans the name again, not just because he pictures the stoic angel gasping with lust as he strokes Dean's cock, but because somewhere in the back of his mind, Dean knows he's being heard right now. The tingle of it zips through his muscles as he speeds the firm tugs on his erection, and the sensation changes to attentiveness laced with surprise. Dean's free hand drags up from behind his head to fist in his short locks as he moans out a burble of wordless noise. The innate knowledge that somewhere far away – maybe even in Heaven, and damn, isn't _that_ weirdly hot – Cas hears Dean as the hunter strokes his cock and pushes the angel's name through his lips. It fuels the rage in the hunter's blood. Another few sloppy, fevered pulls and Dean's body spasms and twitches in the throes of a brutal peak. It feels less like his usual sexual climax and more like he's been pushed off a fucking mountain and landed in a snow drift. His muscles go watery with a weird giddiness that's almost relief; his face and cock burn hot but his skin feels cold and clammy; air rushes in and out of his lungs. For a moment, the location of the old handprint on his shoulder burns and he has a flash vision of Cas hunched over, his hand braced against a wall as he pants and gazes around with wild eyes.

Dean just lies still on the bed, too drained and shocked to even let go of his deflating erection. He supposes that answers his question about whether or not he'd be able to think about Cas "that way". As he blinks and stares at the ceiling, contemplating the bristling thrill at the back of his mind, he gets the feeling that maybe Cas has been forced into a revelation today, too, if that wild, bewildered exhilaration is anything to go by.

A smile tugs at Dean's lips. This … this could be _fun_.

A/N - Remember people: reviews are love! If you liked this little ditty, please stay tuned! It's gets pornier from here :)


	2. Chapter 2

As I mentioned in my previous chapter's A/N, chapters will get progressively longer - and smuttier - as they go. Hope you enjoy. Remember, reviews are love.

~~ ** Lady Tuesday ** ~~

 **Dean Fucks With Cas, Take Two – Hit the Showers**

The second time isn't an accident, but it certainly isn't pre-planned. This time, Dean has spent several weeks feeling that little electric current of awareness in the back of his head every time he says Cas's name aloud to Sammy, and he will admit to himself that he's been purposely mentioning the angel more often because he knows somehow that Cas tunes into Winchester FM a lot more frequently now. Whether or not the angel listens in because Dean talks about him more or because he's hoping to have another audible peep show Dean isn't sure, but he thinks maybe it's a vicious circle because he didn't feel that tickle in his brain with anywhere near this kind of regularity before his little naughty broadcast. So when Dean announces to Sammy that he's going to go take a long, hot shower to wind down from a successful hunt, he knows that the last few weeks have primed the pump for _something_ to happen; he just didn't have any particular agenda.

The shower seems to make up his mind for him, though. Given that he and Sam have spent the last several years together twenty-four-seven, neither one of them really have a whole lot of privacy when it comes to sexual matters (or _any_ matters, really) unless they actually go home with the chick du jour. They've both become pretty relaxed when it comes to things like suspiciously long showers. After all, they're both healthy men in their prime and it's been a while since either one of them got laid, so the brothers just sort of turn a blind eye to this sort of thing and occasionally make up reasons to leave the other guy alone every now and then. In this case, Sam nodded his head in regards to Dean's shower plans without really taking his gaze off his computer, mumbling something about catching up on a few some news articles and checking in with Jody and Claire. He turns on the TV louder than necessary as Dean closes the bathroom door, which is standing Winchester Brother Code for "I'm creating background noise as plausible deniability for any knowledge of you jacking off in there".

Dean spends the first five or six minutes with his forehead resting on his folded arms against the wall, just letting the punishingly hot water beat down on his back and loosen his sore, strained muscles. He can feel the heat and steam working out most of the major knots in his upper body and he belatedly wishes that he could lay down and take a bath to let everything just go limp, but a) he's not a girl, and b) God only knows the cleanliness of this bathroom and he just doesn't want to take the chance. The bunker actually has a decent tub, not that he would admit this knowledge for any reason. So he just stands there and lets the water do the work. Eventually he does actually get around to cleaning himself, and okay, _maybe_ the slide of Sam's girly body wash – seriously, what kind of man chooses to use something called "body wash" instead of bar soap like anything else with testicles? – feels kind of sexy as it slips across his chest and stomach. Part of him fills his hand with the slick substance because he knows it'll feel great and part of him does it just because Sam would throw a hissy if he knew Dean used it to jack off. So he does, with a smirk.

This time, he takes a little more time about it. He runs his hands over his chest, scrapes fingernails over his nipples and down his abs, takes the time to get in the mood rather than just going straight at it like usual. Letting his head drop back against the wall, Dean closes his eyes as he reaches down towards his growing erection. He hiccups a bit because damn, that body wash shit _does_ feel good; he starts to wonder if maybe that's the real reason Sammy uses the stuff, but immediately evicts the idea because thinking of _Sam_ whacking it will totally bomb any chance he has of keeping his boner. He just shakes the image out of his head, relaxes again, and lets the slow glide of his clenched fist along his skin drag him under.

This time, the image of his hands roaming across the angel leaps into his head, not that of Cas's hands on Dean's body. With the exception of that time where Cas was crazy and covered in bees, Dean can't even really begin to picture what Cas looks like naked because Jesus, he's barely ever even seen him without the fucking trench coat. Shit, though, just imagining pulling off the angel's tie seems like fucking porn. That's what he hears in his head as his strokes along his cock speed up: the angel's rasping breaths on his throat coupled with the whisk of his silky tie coming free from his shirt. The way his breath might hitch if Dean pressed his lips to the stretch of neck between the messy dark hair and the starched white collar. The way Cas would groan into his ear if Dean threaded his arms under that fucking coat to clasp fingers around the angel's ass and drag his body against Dean's.

"Oh, Jesus," Dean mutters and his hand strokes faster. "Fuck _. Cas._ "

Images flicker in Dean's head, strangely out of sync with each other: the gasping angel clutching at his shoulders as he ruts against the front of Dean's body – Cas looking flushed and bewildered, trying to focus on something that a stranger says to him – the passion-stricken expression on the angel's face as he pushes Dean into a chair, straddles his lap – Cas hunching over a sink in a public restroom, splashing cold water on his face with trembling hands – the angel's permanently chapped lips closing around his earlobe as Dean guides the angel's clothed hips in a rough buck against his own—

"Christ—fuck— _yes_ —Cas," Dean groans, one hand squeezing gently at his testicles, the other fairly flying against his erection.

Even in his lust-hazed mind, Dean can tell which images are his own imagination and which are flashes of the real Cas, somehow transmitted to him when his mind turns towards the angel. It doesn't matter. Right now, in this moment, the tiny glimpses of the real angel dazedly trying to make sense of Dean's garbled sensual thoughts and rein in his own response are enflaming Dean just as much as Dean's own visions. As a matter of fact, when he sees a snippet of Cas in that restroom snapping his head up to gaze in the mirror and brokenly mutter " _Dean_ " in that voice that sounds like ten miles of bad road, Dean's climax seems to burst from nowhere and shatter him to pieces. His hips stutter and every muscle in the lower half of his body clenches and unclenches in random patterns. Dean slides down the tiled wall to fold himself into a heap, uncaring of the state of cleanliness of the tub for the moment, just letting his twitching muscles come to rest as the last of the hot water runs out.

Belatedly, Dean realizes that Sam is hammering on the door.

"Jesus Christ, Dean, at least answer me and tell me you're all right in there," his brother's voice says in a strange, high pitched voice. "I really, _really_ don't want to have to come in after you."

"I'm fine, Sammy," Dean responds, pleased at the fact that his voice sounds at least somewhat normal. "What, you think I can't handle a freaking shower without a chaperone?"

Dean can almost _hear_ the Bitch Face on Sam's features, it's so obvious.

"Yeah, well, with the racket you were making in there, you'd think you were wrestling an entire werewolf pack. And seriously, dude? _Gross_. I realize it's hard not to know what's going on, but the least you could do is keep it the hell down, for common courtesy's sake."

Face flushing practically crimson, Dean vaults out of the shower, wrenches off the water, and throws a towel around his waist. He swings opens the door, his signature cocky grin fixed in place.

"I'm sorry, Sammy," he says in mock sympathy as his moose of a brother stares him down from where he's leaning on the doorframe. "Have I offended your delicate sensibilities by having a discernible sex drive? You poor dear. Are you going to faint?"

"Up yours," Sam responds, but his lips quirk up in a lopsided grin as he pushes off the door sill. And then, belatedly, "Jerk."

"Bitch," Dean responds with a smile and goes to fish out a clean pair of boxers and t-shirt from his duffle.

When he finally flops down onto the bed later that night, Dean stares up at the ceiling and lets his mind drift back to the shower and further to the first instance of this little game with Cas. Both times it had happened, Dean's orgasm had been so freaking powerful he'd have sworn someone slipped him a drug in his beer. Jesus, if that was just from jacking off _thinking_ about Cas, he shuddered – honest to God, shuddered – to think what it would be like to actually _fuck_ the angel. Christ, he might do himself legitimate physical harm. Fry a brain cell or five … thousand. But damn, he couldn't help but think that it would be totally worth it.

Dean lets his lips lift up a bit. Now that he'd given Cas another taste of his little game, a hint that the first time wasn't just a fluke, he could expect the angel to be less surprised next time. He'd get to see Cas's _real_ response and then the fun would _really_ begin. He drifts off to sleep with a satisfied smirk on his face.


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you SO MUCH to all the people who have read, reviewed, given kudos, or commented. Seriously, it gives me life. FYI - I will be updating on a Monday-Wednesday-Friday schedule from here on out.

Enjoy!

~~ ** Lady Tuesday ** ~~

 **Dean Fucks With Cas, Take 3 – The Ride of a Lifetime**

The third time it happens is completely, inescapably, smirk-inducingly planned and Dean can't help but be _thoroughly_ amused with himself at the outcome. He and Sammy are about seventeen hours into a cross-country trip to their next job in Bancroft, Idaho – seriously, there's only like 400 people in the whole town, so how could they possibly have rumors of a ten-person vampire nest? – and Dean has just about had it with driving. They'd run out of money for a hotel somewhere between Omaha and Lincoln, so Dean pulls into a field on a nicely deserted road about halfway between the two cities so that he can catch at least a few hours of sleep. He'd only been able to stop long enough to eat and piss since they left the rinky-dink town in New York that they'd just finished up in, so Dean feels the strain as far as something to work out the tension of a lousy hunt followed by a long drive. And he'd be lying through his teeth if he said he isn't itching to shock the shit out of Cas with another round of the whole mind porn thing. Sammy fell asleep somewhere around Des Moines, so Dean can't see any harm in indulging a bit, as long as he keeps all Universal Noises of Fucking strictly inside his noggin.

As gently as he can manage, Dean eases himself out of his seat, careful to avoid Sam's head as he swings a leg over the bench and lowers onto the back seat to stretch out. Knowing he needs to be prepared to cover up quick should his brother catch on, Dean doesn't even lower the zip on his fly, just slides a hand down his stomach and into his boxers, wrapping fingers around his already-blossoming erection. Not much room left to work with, but the idea of having Princess Sam wake up and see Dean with his dick in his hand is enough to convince him to make do. He lets his left foot drop to the floor and props his right up on the open window sill, allowing Dean to spread his knees apart and stretch out. Dean's eyes drop shut as he reaches out with his mind.

 _Hmmm,_ he let his thoughts hum, _if I were Cas, where would I most fantasize about doing the dirty?_

Startlingly fast, an image pops up behind his eyes. He sees the backseat of the Impala; not surprising, since his baby happened to be pretty much his favorite place on Earth, and it wouldn't be the first time he's had sex in the backseat. Hell, it wouldn't even be the first time it happened _with an angel_ (which, if Dean's being really honest, is pretty fucked up, fantasizing about getting dirty with Cas in the same location he banged a chick who is essentially Cas's sister). What does surprise Dean, though, is how his cock jumps to full salute at the thought of sexy wrestling with Cas in the backseat of his car.

His hand moves along his cock in short, tight strokes as he lets the images play out behind his eyelids: _Dean's hands clutching at Cas's shoulders as the angel straddles his lap in the center of the backseat – the angel's voice rough against Dean's ears while he dips his head and clamps his teeth around a soft stretch of Cas's neck – Cas's head thrown back, rocking against Dean's lap as the hunter's hands clutch tight fistfuls of the angel's ass._

Dean grits his teeth to keep a moan from escaping, his breathing harsh and loud as it bounces around the inside of the car. In his head, the two of them tear at each other, Cas growling as he moves to one side and drops to his back on the seat bed, pulling Dean on top of him and bracketing the hunter's hips with his legs. Dean feels an electric zing of excitement through his muscles, a signal of the real Cas tuning in, maybe even watching as the fantasy version of Dean thrusts his still-clothed hips against the angel's taut thigh, making the Cas inside Dean's head whip his head back and forth on the seat. Dean hears groaning in his head, something apart from the dream; noises of both frustration and arousal bang at his ear drums. He wants – no, _needs –_ to see how far he can push Cas.

Dean watches, aroused beyond belief, as the Dean inside his head rears back and hastily yanks at the fly of his jeans. Dream Cas flips onto his belly without a word, trying to push up to a kneeling position but the Fantasy Dean braces a strong forearm across the back of Cas's shoulders, holding the angel down against the worn leather. With a deft tug, Dean's doppelganger pushes down his pants and boxers, letting his erection bob free in the cool air as he pulls the white dress shirt free from Cas's dress pants. Dean knows where this was going now and a little moan that ekes past his lips as he turns onto his stomach, his twitching erection pinned against the seat. His blood pounds when he realizes that he's in the very same position where the Cas in his head moans and writhes. As the hunter in his head leans down to reach under the angel to slide down the zipper of his trousers, Dean brings an arm up under his face to stifle his helpless noises in the sleeve of his shirt.

In the magic of dreams that manages to skip the reality of condoms, lube, preparation and any of those other practical things that make sex take longer, Dean groans as the man in his head curls one hand around the angel's slim hips and uses the other to guide his cock between the up-thrust cheeks of Cas's ass. Unable to help himself, Dean rocks his unbearably stiff cock against the inside of his jeans, chafing against the seat beneath him to try for some friction to mimic the men in his head. He tries to question the sudden interest in butt sex, but can't seem to manage it; he just gets swept under by the frenzy of motion and groans and slapping skin in his head. He can imagine he almost feels Cas's skin warm under his hands; the hot clamp of Cas's muscles around his cock; the angel's teeth digging into the arm Fantasy Dean thrusts under Cas's face; the way the angel's hands scramble for purchase on something that would allow him better leverage to rock his hips back against Dean's. Back in the actual Impala, Dean whimpers and thrusts harder against the seat below him. His head buzzes with the moans of the fantasy and harsh breathing that's connected and yet not his own, his heartbeat thunderous in his ears and his knees quaking with the effort needed to hold himself up enough to rock against the seat to give himself pleasure but it's not enough, not nearly enough.

The hand not currently jammed knuckle deep between his teeth to keep moans from escaping clutches at the door handle and Dean jerks his hips as hard as he can manage. In his head, he hears the gravel of Cas's voice panting his name, but it's not the Cas that he sees behind his eyelids, not the Cas that he pictures shaking under the force of his climax as the leather upholstery muffles his moan. A gruff exhalation bounces around inside Dean's head and he knows – he's _certain_ – that he hears the real Cas and that the angel is in much the same state as Dean. The knowledge that somewhere out there in the world, the angel is watching a panoramic view of Dean fucking him senseless in the back of a car and the sight drives Cas out of his mind with lust. Jut the idea of that unravels Dean completely.

He barely manages not to howl as he comes. His hips shudder and twitch, he feels the material of his boxers dampen and plaster itself to his skin, his joints going watery with euphoria. Harsh breath scrapes in and out of Dean's throat, raking along the sides like he's been gargling sandpaper. He just registers the movement from the front seat as Sam pokes his head over the partition and glares at him, hair plastered to his face on one side and sticking up in an odd series of peaks and horns on the other.

"Dean?" he asks in a sleep-rough voice. "What the hell is going on back there?"

Dean manages to prop himself up on one elbow. "What?" That's the only word he can seem to force out of his brain.

"What's going on back there?" Sam repeats. "You were shaking the whole car."

He sounds equal parts concerned and pissed off.

"Sorry, Sammy. Nightmare," he babbles, pleased that he could come up with something other than _"oh, just dry humping my car while fantasizing about ass fucking an angel; and you?"_

"You all right?" Sam responds, the annoyance draining away to leave only worry. "Need to talk about it?"

"No!" he says a little too hastily. "No, Sammy, I'm fine, thanks. I … uh … I think I'm going to get some air. Sit outside on the hood."

Sam just nods, rolls over in the seat so that his hair dangles out the side window, and goes back to sleep. Dean eases himself out the door and rounds the car, opening the trunk as quietly as he can. He fishes out a clean pair of boxers from his duffle and quickly strips from the waist down. A splash of water from a bottle in the trunk onto his discarded boxers serves to help him wipe down his front a bit – Jesus, he hasn't come in his pants since he was a teenager – and he redresses quickly enough.

Once he has everything back in place, Dean settles on the hood and gazes up at the sky full of stars, expansive around him due to the low, flat stretch of land that makes up the whole state. He wonders idly where Cas is, how he's recovering from this latest misadventure. Whether he can see any stars where he is. Which ones. A smile quirks up the corners of his lips.

"Don't think I don't know," Dean says ruefully, looking up at the sky. "Don't think I don't know that the whole rough quickie in the back of my car thing was at least partly your idea."

He thinks he can almost hear the huff of indignation and flat stare the angel would give him in response. Dean chuckles.

"Kinky bastard," he says to the stars.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N - Quick and fun side note from last chapter that I forgot to mention - I made reference to Bancroft, Idaho as the location of their upcoming job and that they were 17 hours into a cross-country journey from their LAST job in a rinky dink town in New York state. Bancroft ID actually is a tiny town of approx 450 people and Omaha/Lincoln IS approximately 17 hours into the journey from my hometown in New York to Idaho. I couldn't resist, seeing as how there are is a couple down the road from me who own a 1960s black Impala. Every time they pass my complex, I shout, "It's Sam and Dean!"

Hope you enjoy this chapter, lovies. The next few will be a very different tonal shift, but this one sets up where I go next.

Enjoy,

~~ ** Lady Tuesday ** ~~

 **Dean Fucks with Cas, Take 4 – The Internet is For Porn**

The fourth time it happens, Dean admits (if only to himself) that there is no possible way to write this off as just fucking with Cas to get a rise out of him anymore. Even if he could have done that the first time – and maybe, _maybe_ , the second – he left justifiable protests back outside of Omaha when he dry-humped his baby's back seat during mental butt sex with his angelic BFF. The thing is, it hadn't been just screwing with him that got Dean off; both the idea and the mental picture of _actually screwing_ Cas had turned him on more than anything had in as long as he could remember. So Dean does what he does with any problem: barrel straight at it, both middle fingers raised, and kick it in the ass.

Well, after burying his feelings to the point where they fester and cause him to do something stupid, _then_ barrel at it and kick it in the ass. Or fuck it in the ass, which seems more and more likely to be the case here … aaaaaaand now he's come back around to the burying his feelings part.

Nope. _No._ No burying, not anymore. Dean Winchester is not a fucking coward. Much. Not about sex anyway, God damn it.

Settling back against the headboard of his bed in the bunker and propping his laptop open on his outstretched legs, Dean's honestly not certain if he's in the "do something stupid" phase or the "barrel straight at it phase". His fingers are tingling a bit, nervous, as they hover over the keys. He can't seem to make himself finish typing the URL he'd stealthily researched earlier, which is just stupid considering he's alone in his _locked_ bedroom. The empty bunker's even empty for the night because Sam fucked off to some jumped-up microbrewery a few towns over for some sort of pretentious trivia contest where nerds congratulate other nerds on knowing shit that's no use to anybody.

"Nut up, Winchester," Dean growls to himself because even _he_ knows that he's stalling now. He hits ENTER on his keyboard and up pops the website.

Cheeks flushing, Dean's drags his cursor indecisively back and forth over the line of thumbnails. When planning this little foray – if half an hour of sneakily Googling gay porn sites while pretending to look for cases counts as "planning" – Dean seems to have gained the mistaken impression that this would be easy. He'd pull up a couple of videos, watch some dudes going at it, and decide whether it's the idea of dude sex in general that's ringing his bell these days or whether it's more Cas-specific. Simple, right? Well, not so much, he now discovers. Where he'd thought that the videos would mostly be blow jobs or hard core anal and he'd only have to watch a few to see what (if anything) gets him going, the variety of what's in front of him proves a little daunting. Which, in retrospect, he should have seen coming; Dean is no stranger to straight porn and he's damn proud of that fact, so he's well aware that there are almost as many kinds of straight porn as there are people that watch it. Really, the fact that there are about a billion different kinds of videos here with every body type and sex act you can think of featuring two (or more) men should have been expected. Still, he's got to admit that he's a little overwhelmed. Since he's also determined – and if he's quite honest, at least half hard just from the sheer buffet of naked skin in front of him – Dean decides to just pick a video and watch. He'll refine his tastes later.

The first one doesn't do all that much for him. I mean, yay for enthusiastic blow jobs and all, but only about 30 seconds worth of the clip rolls by before Dean clicks back to the main page, deciding that overly muscular, tatted-up guys are apparently not his 'thing'. Neither are beardy/hairy "bear"-type guys, it would seem, if his lack of reaction to the second video is anything to go by. Unsurprising but hey, he might as well explore. The next one sparks his interest for a little longer: the guy who seems to be in charge in this one has a slimmer build, lean but toned, and definitely an _I Don't Put Up with Your Bullshit_ kind of guy. Dean has to admit that he's impressed that the guy manages to pull off the No Bullshit vibe with a dick in his mouth, but somehow the dude makes it work.

Another couple more discarded videos go by before Dean starts to realize there's a pattern to what catches his interest. Not that he'd admit it out loud, but it seems like he has a bit of a kink for authority figures. Huh, go figure. The idea teases a grin out of Dean considering that he's usually a sarcastic dick to _actual_ authority figures while _pretending_ to be an authority figure. Although Sam's a nerd with an obvious hot-for-teacher hang up, so maybe it's not all that surprising that Dean has developed a thing for guys that wouldn't take any shit. That thought definitely gets the blood pumping.

It takes another few minutes for Dean to realize that he's unconsciously chosen four videos now that feature the two guys in it basically fighting each other before things get handsy, and then when things do get handsy, Dean's breath usually hiccups in his chest when one of the dudes gets pinned to a wall, bed, table or whatever and held down while sexy times ensue. Okay, so yeah, definite authority kink. Somewhere in the back of his head, he calls up Cas's voice growling, "You should show me some respect; I pulled you out of Hell, I can throw you back in." It takes at least 20 seconds of mentally reliving the intensity of that blue-eyed stare before Dean catches up to the fact that he's palming his rock-hard erection while fantasizing about his best friend _threatening him_. While _watching gay porn._

If it were actually an option, Dean would probably consider therapy at this point. Instead, Dean decides to queue up a video entitled "AnGeL Takes It Up his H0t Tw1nk $$". Because that can't possibly be a bad idea.

The 'angel' turns out to be a guy with a pair of pitch-black feathered wings tattooed across his back and down his arms, but the guy has a slim build and dark, tousled hair, and Jesus Christ on Toast, this is definitely a bad idea. Dean doesn't click away though, and he finds himself watching as the 'angel' sinks to his knees and frees his partner's stupidly large cock from a battered pair of jeans. Pink lips stretch across the faceless guy's length and the sight transfixes Dean; he's not even bothering to resist stroking his hand along the ridge his erection makes in his boxers. By the time Twink Angel clambers onto his hands and knees and fixes the camera with a fierce gaze, Dean strokes his cock through the thin cotton with one hand while groping towards the drawer of his nightstand for lube with the other. He bobbles the bottle when there is a sudden extreme close-up of Giant Cock's fingers plunging into Twink Angel's ass. More than a little shocked, Dean winces in sympathy.

"Dude. One finger at a time, man," Dean admonishes Giant Cock (whose face he still hasn't seen, although obviously it's not his most important feature). "You can't just jump straight to two. Especially if you're not lubing that shit up." Dean's not exactly an expert, but _still_.

Twink Angel doesn't seem to mind, but Dean finds himself at least a little relieved when Giant Cock at least gets a little spit involved, even though he's never personally liked the idea of spitting on someone he's fucking. Heat of the moment though, he guesses. Twink Angel's squirms and little noises of frustration make it clear that it's not quite enough though, because you finally see Giant Cock's face … when he spreads the angel's cheeks with his fingers and drags a long, pointed tongue up the crack of the slimmer man's ass, drawing a ragged moan from somewhere off camera.

"Fucking—" Dean begins but can't bring himself to finish because little punched out moans and groans are coming from his speakers now as Giant Cock starts circling his tongue over the angel's entrance, and Dean is holding his breath so he doesn't miss hearing a single one of them.

He fumbles when he reaches for the lube bottle again because he doesn't want to tear his eyes from the screen. Not even taking the time to shimmy out of his boxers, Dean maneuvers his cock out through the slit in the front, dousing his hand with way too much lube; he can't be bothered to care because the angel on his screen writhes and moans and thrusts his hips back against Giant's face, and Dean bangs his head backward into the wall a couple of times just to give himself something to focus on other than how quickly he's racing towards coming. His strokes are fast and uneven, squeezing too hard on some and not enough on others but it doesn't fucking matter, he feels like he's going to come in about three minutes flat. The screen in front of him shows that they've gotten down to the actual fucking now, but Dean barely registers it. Instead, he drops his head back to the wall and slams his eyes shut, unable to help the tidal wave of visions showing Cas kneeling on the bed in front of him, ass up and face buried in the covers as Dean laves his _actual_ angel's entrance with his tongue, clutching and kneading at the globes of Cas's ass with greedy hands. Grunts and slaps of skin from the video underpin his little fantasy, echoing from where his laptop practically burns his legs but Dean doesn't fucking care. He tries to imagine what the deep rumble of Cas's whiskey-barrel voice would sound like when gruff with lust and impatience. Dean doesn't think he quite manages it, but the noises going on around him will be enough anyway.

Dean threads his left hand up the leg of his boxers and catches some of the excess lube and precome dripping down his length; without stopping to question why he's doing it, Dean uses the flat of his thumb to press up hard on that stretch of skin behind his balls and then circles his middle finger around his entrance for just a moment before he pushes just the tip inside. He lets out a strangled gasp and his hips leave the bed, head thunking back against the wall. Tightening his strokes, Dean pictures pressing the point of his tongue into Cas's tight furl of muscle and he only has to slide his finger in and out twice more before everything seizes and a white-hot sunburst blows behind his eyelids. His orgasm goes on for far longer than he would have imagined possible. When the twitch and jerk of his hips finally stops, he looks down ruefully at the splashes of come across his boxers as well as his stomach. Damn it, he's going to have to get up and do laundry right away, because that's usually Sam's 'assigned' chore, and he really doesn't want to have to explain to his adult brother why he came all over his underwear like a fucking teenager.

Dean strips and redresses himself quickly and efficiently, running over the whole escapade in his head. Okay, another mind-blowing orgasm; always a plus. Discovered a completely unexpected kink for giving a rim job; a plus? Maybe? Potential plus, anyway. Probably warrants further investigation. On the down side, since this little foray once again veered heavily towards visions of Cas, Dean finds it hard to nail down whether he was aroused because of what he saw or because he tied it back to Cas. He had definitely seen some things that sparked his interest before the "angel" peaked it, but things hadn't escalated until he saw somebody that reminded him of Cas. Which wasn't exactly a bad thing, really, but Dean is starting to get the feeling that this may be more about more than just Dean's 'bond' to Cas.

As Dean strips his bed, gathers up his clothes, and hauls a load of whites down to the laundry room, he can only really think of one way to make it obvious. Now all he needs is to find a case that gives him a viable reason to head out towards Atlanta. Dean knows exactly where to go to get things straight – no pun intended.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N - so when I started writing this, I had every intention of it just being a short, porny bit of nonsense with no real higher redeeming value. But when I sat down to write this chapter - the fifth of the 5+1 - Dean seemed to insist that it become his Coming Out story. In order to do it justice, I had to break up the Fifth Time Dean Fucks With Cas into several chapters for a couple of reasons: 1) in order to get Dean to the mental turning point he needed to arrive at, he had to have an "Aha!" moment which couldn't be accomplished just through more masturbation; 2) the Original Male Character who appears in this chapter made himself a much bigger deal than I expected and I liked him so much, I wanted to give him his due; 3) if left as one chapter, it would have been twice as big as all the other chapters put together, and that would just be too unwieldy.

As such ... there's no actual smut in this chapter. Or the next one. And while I'll admit that I'm a little nervous that I'll lose readers, I really REALLY hope you guys stick around for the "pay off" in the rest of the chapters. Because chapters 7-12 will basically be nothing BUT porn. So ... I hope you like this chapter and that you hang with me through the next couple.

Enjoy,  
~~ ** Lady Tuesday ** ~~

 **Dean Fucks With Cas, Take 5** **– Scream Away, Skanky Unicorn**

The fifth time it happens everything becomes clear to Dean, which is good because while he is technically the right age for a mid-life and/or sexuality crisis, it's just fucking exhausting and Dean doesn't really have time for that shit. In any case, by the end of the night, he's way more scared but a hell of a lot less confused and for now that's something he can live with.

Dean managed to convince Sammy to let Dean go solo on this hunt, thank fuck, because he's 100% certain that if his brother had witnessed the fuckery that went down while Dean was picking out his clothes for the evening he never would have lived down the ensuing hysterics. First of all, _Dean took time to pick out his clothes_. That in and of itself would have been grounds for teasing, but the fact that he tried on three things before settling on his current choices would probably have resulted in at least four jokes about prom and not letting the other teens pressure him into anything he's not ready for. That's what Dean would say if the shoe was on the other foot, and … well, he may not have worked up the guts to go if he'd heard it. Thankfully, the motel room features blissful silence as Dean considers. He's about to throw on the sort of thing he wears every time he goes to a bar: boots, comfortable jeans, shirt that brought out the color of his eyes (because yes, he knows how to work his best feature when he wants to), flannel, leather jacket. Maybe a teeny bit of product in his hair, pilfered from Sam, to give a little polish. But he thinks about it this time: that's the sort of thing he wears when looking to pick up _women_. Dean might not be as cut as Sam, but he knows he is pretty jacked and can damn well work the Macho-Bad-Boy-You'll-Regret-in-the-Morning angle like a pro. The clothing he chooses for that image highlight masculinity; between his muscles, his smirk, and his attitude, the women who choose Dean when he looks like that do it because the image he projects reminds them he is 100% Man from top to bottom. But is that what he'd want to project if he were trying to pick up a guy? The problem is that he's not sure. He's still not completely sure he actually _wants_ to pick up a guy, but he sure as hell wants to see if he even wants the _option_. So what angle does Dean want to work to appeal to another guy?

If his porn exploration is any indication, Dean's not looking to pick up Macho Bad Boy (he's got enough of that going on himself) but he's also not looking for someone who is _looking for_ Macho Bad Boy because straight-up twink just doesn't appeal to him. If that's what he wanted, he'd go looking for a woman. And even if he was looking to pick up a Macho Bad Boy, the whole pretty twink angle isn't something he could rock even if he wanted to which he _absolutely does not_. So what the fuck does he go for? Who the hell is he supposed to be if he's trying to appeal to guys? Standing in a motel bathroom in his boxers, pulling his hair in frustration is definitely not what he wanted out of this evening.

 _Okay, clear your head, Winchester. Think._

It's not like guys haven't hit on him before, so what did he look like or act like then? He scrolls back in his mind over the handful of occasions where he was actually _aware_ that a guy was hitting on him and comes to the conclusion that he was basically just being himself. Well, that's supremely unhelpful given that, thanks to hunting, Dean has at least 37 personalities on any given day. So just turn up the volume on normal Dean Winchester? Okay, he can do that. If nothing else, there's one thing that Dean Winchester can be when he goes out on the prowl: smoking hot.

Rummaging through his bag, he eventually unearths a pair of jeans that aren't his nicest but hang low on his hips and hug his ass like crazy, which can't be bad if he's trying to appeal to dudes, right? They ride a little tight on his crotch – which is why he doesn't wear them much anymore – but that's probably not too bad either, considering Dean is a little more blessed in the package department than most and hey, if you got it, flaunt it. He starts to pull out one of his nicer henleys and stops. No, this is a club he's going to, not a bar. He digs around for a minute and pulls out a plain black t-shirt; okay, a bit boring, but Sam shrunk the hell out of it last time he did the wash (payback for some kind of prank Dean pulled) with the result that it's clingy as fuck … but hugs every muscle, shows off the guns, and just hits the top of his jeans. Ridiculous and impractical for hunting monsters, but hunting men? Dean twists this way and that as he gazes in the mirror, watching the shirt move over his upper body, the way it pulls up and shows an inch-wide strip of his stomach (which is still flat, fuck you very much middle age) when he moves. Perfect. A minute or two spent on his hair and he thinks he's actually good to go. He leaves his jacket on the bed – not like he needs it in July in Atlanta anyway – jams his wallet in his jeans pocket, and palms his keys. There's a nervous flutter in his stomach which he resolutely ignores as he shuts the motel door and strides out to Baby.

 _Come and get it, boys._

The music is louder than the last strip joint he'd been to, but he's not quite sure if it's a gay club thing or the fact that the DJ is trying to get up over the din of the number of people in here. It's not completely packed, but it's pretty damned busy for a Thursday night. Dean's told himself to spend the first half hour or so just getting acquainted with the feel of the joint. He's gotten lots of stares – some curious at the obvious new guy, some definitely 'interested' – and he's returned a few as well, which was easier and less nerve-wracking than he expected. Trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, he planted himself by a high-top table that didn't have anyone else at it in front of the bar and just let his gaze roam the crowd; he didn't seem to be the only one in the place doing so, despite the fact that there is a dancer performing not fifteen feet away. It only takes about twenty of his allotted thirty minutes for somebody to come up to him.

"Hey you," a twangy tenor voice says and Dean turns to see a slim slip of a kid who can't be more than 20 or so giving him a sharp, predatory smile. "I don't see a drink in your hand and I bet you could use one. Looking that good must be thirsty work."

As opening lines go it's kind of lame, but the kid is so enthusiastic as he says it that Dean can't help chuckling. "Surprisingly enough, there's no work involved. It comes natural," he returns with a half-grin.

"Even better," the kid says.

He's probably only about 5'6" and slender, but Dean can tell the kid's got good muscle tone under the tight black pants and t-shirt. He's got hair so dark the black looks blue under the colored lights and it's artfully tousled back away from a round, friendly face. Dean's new admirer favors him with a softer smile after a long, assessing gaze.

"First time in a place like this?"

Dean huffs and looks down at his hands, clasped on the table top. "Am I that obvious?"

The kid laughs. "Don't worry, sugar, it's only because I know what I'm looking for."

Because the kid is giving him a break and taking it easy on him, Dean stands up with a good-natured smile and spreads his hands. "What gave me away?"

"Well," he drawls, tapping his lips as if considering the question, "you've been looking at pretty much everybody in here, but no one person for more than a few seconds. You've parked yourself towards the back where you won't be noticed _too much_ but not so far back you won't be noticed at all. And out of the thousand or so guys who have been checking you out—" Dean snorts but the kid just smiles deeper, "you've only smiled back at two or three of them, blushed like hell every time," the kid taps Dean's cheek where the flush deepens, god damn it, "and haven't actually gone up to any of the guys that are obviously trying to find out if they can get in your pants."

This time Dean lets out some of his embarrassment and rubs at the back of his neck, dropping his gaze back to the table. "Jesus, it sounds like I really am sticking out—"

"No, no, honey, I meant it," the kid says, laying a hand on Dean's forearm, "it's just because I know what I'm looking for. You come here enough and you can spot certain people a mile away. Here, I'll show you."

The kid scans the room a moment and then jerks his chin in the direction of a guy wearing army fatigue pants and a t-shirt for a band he doesn't recognize, "the 'I'm not queer, I'm only here for my gay best friend' guy who is obviously looking to take home some pretty little piece of twink ass that he will definitely deny by morning. I mean really, camo to a gay strip club? It's like the I'm-Not-a-Homo Uniform."

Dean chortles as the kid points out another guy, this time one wearing leather pants, a mesh shirt, dog collar, and about eight pounds of eyeliner. "The I've Watched Fifty Shades of Grey Too Often and Am Hoping Someone Will Offer to Spank Me." Another gaze and a laugh. "And of course, the I Equate Skinny Pants, Spray Tan, and Hair Gel With Sexiness. Sweet Liza Minelli, he might as well just declare himself a Kardashian and be done with it."

"And, uh, that guy?" Dean asks, gesturing as nonchalantly as possible to the guy dressed in rainbow leggings so tight you can actually see the outline of the dude's junk, a glittery top, a hoodie with a horse tail attached, and bright red lipstick.

"Oh, that's not a front. That's Damian; he's a regular and mostly harmless. He always looks like that. Seriously, that's what he wears to the grocery store. If being a Slutty Brony makes him happy," the kid shrugs, "scream away, Skanky Unicorn."

"And what about me?" Dean says, leaning back and letting the kid take another long look. "What do I scream to you?"

"Well, I'd rather you scream _because_ of me," he says with a leer, and Dean can't help but shake his head.

"Kid—"

"Sam."

 _Fucking hell. Of_ course _that would be his name_. "Sam," Dean says and tries to keep his smile, "can you even drink the alcohol you were offering me? What the hell are you doing over here hitting on me? I'm probably old enough to be your dad."

"Better and better," Sam responds. When Dean raises an eyebrow, he just points a finger. "Do not judge. Everyone has a kink and mine just happens to be Closeted Older Tough Guys. And you have to be 21 to even get in the door. Incidentally, I'm twenty-five; perfectly legal."

"Well, at least you think I'm tough," he says ruefully. "Seriously, what do I 'scream' to you?"

Sam shrugs again. "Well, you're not trying too hard with the clothes, but you aren't comfortable here yet so …" he takes another moment to look Dean over as Dean silently ponders the table top again. "Not 'out' yet, obviously, but comfortable in your own skin in general, especially about sex. You're good and you know it," Dean smirks at him, "—it's in the posture. Sexy without trying to be. You're used to being hit on because you're not trying to deflect, but probably not used to being hit on by guys because you're not responding or returning either. You're not letting it scare you away, though. So … just deciding maybe you're bisexual, but haven't actually done anything about it yet. You're here to decide what you want."

"Also," Sam skims his thumb from the stretch of bare skin where Dean's shirt rode up over his hip – which makes Dean inhale sharply – around back to cup his hand around the curve of Dean's ass in a barely-there caress before falling away. "You're a fucking tease."

After a long pause where Dean just stares down at the table some more, picking at a cocktail napkin, Sam asks, "Well? How'd I do?"

Dean gives him a wide flash of a grin. "Whatever this place is paying you, it's not enough."

Sam immediately pouts. "Damn it, I wasn't going to tell you I worked here because you looked so happy when I came up and flirted with you. How did you know?"

Dean opens up towards Sam, not missing the way the kid's eyes skim over his arms and chest, and laughs. "Noticing shit is kind of my job." When Sam gives him a quizzical look, he answers, "You're wearing the same style pants as three other guys behind the bar and you have a notebook jammed in your back pocket. Drink orders, obviously."

"So you _were_ looking at my ass!" Sam crows.

"Hey, I'm not out, but I'm not _blind_ either," Dean replies. "It's a hell of a nice ass."

He gets a proud smile in response as Sam knocks shoulders with him. "Awww, baby's first gay come on. I'm so honored."

"Shut up, Sam," Dean says, and it falls from his lips easily enough that it could have been his brother he was talking to. He clears his throat. "So, uh, what would you have done if I'd immediately taken you up on that drink? I would have noticed if you brought it back with a bill."

"Honey, did you not hear me say you're hot and I have a kink? I would have bought you the damn drink and every one after it, praying to Judy Garland that you'd let me ride you home at the end of my shift as a thank you."

Dean fights the blush that rises to his cheeks and fails miserably.

"Seriously though, let me get you a drink. I know the first time at a place like this can be a bit overwhelming."

"Whatever decent domestic beer you have on tap would be great, thanks."

"Be back in a second," Sam says with a wink. He only gets a few steps away before swiveling and coming back. "Hey, you know … the next performer up is really great but the Shooter Boys like me, we also give lap dances. I'd be happy to show you what this ass can do. Just food for thought." And off he goes again, this time very clearly displaying said ass. Dean isn't really ashamed of watching.

After a minute, Dean hoists up onto a stool and lets himself relax more than he had before. He gives Sam a nod of thanks when he sets down a pint glass – "On me, sugar" and another wink – and rolls his shoulders to relieve some of the tension. Maybe this won't be as hard as he thought.

By beer number three, Dean's less worried about what people around him might think. First of all, none of these guys (and the four or so women prowling around) know who he is, and even if they did, they wouldn't be here if they weren't pro-dick so they'd probably just cheer him on. Speaking of pro-dick, Sam the Shooter Boy seems more than passingly interested in getting a crack at Dean's. Both times that Dean has given a bartender the high sign that he wants another pint, Sam has either edged out the other man before he could pour one out or, with the most recent refill that's on its way, the kid leaned over to his colleague, whispered something in the taller man's ear, and then received a shit-eating grin before the guy gave Sam a clear "he's all yours" gesture. Normally, Dean would say the kid is just banking on the idea that the flirtier he gets the drunker Dean gets and thus more likely to give a bigger tip, but the longer the night goes on the less Dean suspects to be the case.

With each successive drink, Dean's more relaxed, and as Dean relaxes Sam's demeanor gradually changes. He talks more but less flamboyantly; smiles more; flirts less. He snarks at Dean and everyone else in the club a lot more; calls him "honey" or "sugar" a lot less. Dean's not just more comfortable with the kid, he's more attracted to the kid as Sam gets more real.

"So," Dean says as Sam sets down beer number three, "tit for tat this time, kid."

"I'm concerned at the use of the word 'tit', but go on," Sam says with a rueful smile.

"Well, hey, you deconstructed me, I think it's time for me to return the favor. Tell you what _you_ 'scream'."

Sam leans one elbow on the table, raises an eyebrow at Dean, but Dean doesn't miss the tiny flash of panic in his eyes before he caps it behind a confident smirk. "Sure, honey," Sam encourages him, clearly believing that Dean has no chance at accuracy, "give me your best shot."

"For starters, that 'sugar' and 'honey' and 'butter wouldn't melt on my tongue' twangy Southern charm is a very well-crafted tool to get tips and I'll hand it to you, it works. But you dropped it like a hot rock when you saw how nervous I was, so it's something you only use on easy marks who'll pull out a few extra bills as soon as you bat your lashes at them."

Sam blinks and smiles, but Dean just sips his beer and continues without waiting for a response.

"You're nowhere near as flamboyant as you want customers to believe because that act also dropped once you decided you actually liked me. You're smarter than you let on, obvious from how well you peg people just from looking at them. You nailed me on first glance and just from talking to you, I can tell that it wasn't a lucky shot. You're quick, but you don't want people here to know it because smart doesn't get tips, pretty and flirty does."

"Huh," Sam remarks but doesn't say anything else. His face pinches a bit, though, as Dean crowds a little closer.

"And that kink you mentioned earlier." Sam blushes and glances up to catch Dean's eye; he smirks back at the kid. "Yeah, that kink is 100% real, but it's not because you just happen to like older tough guys, is it? It's because you've probably seen some shit, haven't you? And you don't have time for kids your age because they're boring, immature, angsty little assholes and you want someone who knows what they're doing. Especially in the sack. Which tells me that you've actually _had_ somebody who knows what they're doing in the sack, which is probably where that kink came from."

Dean leans back and finishes at least half his beer while Sam plops down on the stool opposite him and chews at the side of his thumbnail, a surprisingly young gesture and the first one he's seen the kid exhibit.

"How'd I do?" Dean asks, and this time his voice is softer, less pointed.

"Damn good," Sam answers, his chuckle a bit unsteady. "You're right: I'm a hell of a lot smarter than people think, a whole lot less flouncy, and," Sam's voice wobbles, "way less confident."

"And the kink?" Dean prods, because he can't stand to hear the kid sound so sad.

It works a charm. Sam snickers and leans forward. "Right in one."

"Okay," Dean says, "so tell me something about the _real_ Sam. Something true, that nobody here would suspect."

A small, guilty grin works up the kid's cheeks. "I love vintage muscle cars."

Dean sips his beer and smiles. "Kid, now you are speaking my language."

"And that helped the kink, too. I have a sister who's nine years older than me and she came back home after grad school to help take care of me for a while. I was sixteen, she was twenty-five, and she had a twenty-eight year old boyfriend with a wicked smirk, a leather jacket, and a 1969 Camaro convertible."

"Sweet!" Dean encourages.

"Mmmm," Sam agrees. "It was cherry. And so was I, until two weeks after my eighteenth birthday when I experienced the back seat." He pauses for effect, casting a thick smirk Dean's way. "With my sister's boyfriend."

"Wow. Sinner," Dean chides, but he smiles as he says it. "Lost your cherry to your sister's boyfriend who was thirty?! Jesus, Sam, I underestimated you."

"Damn right. Maybe someday, if you're a very good boy, I'll tell you the story," he says, satisfied. He makes a little grunt of pleasure. "Sexiest car I've ever seen."

Dean polishes off his beer. "Only because you haven't seen my baby."

Sam freezes in the act of getting off his stool. "No."

"Oh yes."

Sam winces and puts his head in his hands. "Oh no. Please no."

"She's a '67 Chevy Impala. Fixed her up myself, several times."

"God damn you," Sam growls.

"And I even have a leather jacket," Dean chortles, cranking up the smirk.

Sam breathes heavily through his nose before asking, "Is she here?"

Without waiting to see Dean's nod, Sam strides to the front door of the club, throws it open, glares out into the parking lot, and then stalks back to Dean.

"Stop it!" he demands, thrusting a finger under Dean's nose. "Stop being so sexy and perfect!"

A bark of laughter leaves Dean. "You really mean that?"

"No, but YES," Sam nearly shouts. "I highly doubt my bosses would approve if I go fuck a guy in the parking lot just because he's got a nice car."

Dean doesn't even have to respond, as Sam begins to flounce back behind the bar. When Dean gets up to request another drink, Sam just points an imperious finger towards the opposite side of the club.

"You just go sit over there and think about what you've done, young man!"

Dean does it, guffawing the whole way. Strangely, the entire exchange made him feel a hell of a lot closer to comfortable.

A/N - So as you can see, I really adored my OMC, Sam. He has a whole back story that formed itself in my head like a bolt of lightning and while it doesn't belong/fit in this story, I really hope I can find another usage for him in a future work, because I really came to adore this character (and as you'll see, I think Dean does too).

Hope you enjoyed this. Stick with me, babies, because the pay-off that happens with Cas will be SO WORTH IT.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N – In case you were wondering, the strip club where SB Sam works is a real place. It's in Atlanta and it's called Swinging Richards (LOL). I have never been there – sadly – so everything I described about it is based on the website, but all of the things I described are as accurate as I can make them based on the website. I figured that if Dean could make a canon reference to a gay club in Miami when he tells Garth about Purgatory, chances are good that he'd know about Swinging Richards. Yup, writers, you go ahead and continue to insist that he's an Outstanding Heterosexual.

Lastly, big thanks to my sister/beta skeptikitten for the origin of the irresistible phrase "look-down-check-out". One more chapter of plot with my baby SB Sam, and then …. Well, you'll see.

~~ ** Lady Tuesday ** ~~

 **Chapter 6** **– The Lap of Luxury**

Two more hours, two more beers, and three shots of whiskey later, Dean is more than comfortable. As a matter of fact, he has swung from being mildly uncomfortable three tables from the back to second row from the stage, watching the current dancer without shame. The dude is stark fucking naked. Thanks to the guy up there right now – Mason? Maxon? Something obviously fake but not Porn Star-level fake – Dean confirms that it's not just Cas; Dean definitely has a "type" – lean but muscled, piercing eyes, dark hair, looks like he could either throw you through a wall or fuck you against it, depending on his mood. The last hour's worth of persistent semi-erection solidifies this fact every time a dancer of "his type" hits the stage. He hasn't managed to get past himself to actually go up and tip any of the dancers – which he really should do, as he read on the website that they only get paid in tips – but he's also swerving towards tipsy and his Liquid Courage reminds him that he has a decent enough chunk of bills in his pocket. Every time he goes back towards the bar, though, Shooter Boy Sam with the dark hair and pert ass keeps pinning him back with sassy glances, and the last time he served Dean a shot of whiskey the fucker had 'accidentally' spilled some on his fingers and fucking licked it off. Slowly. It had taken Dean five solid minutes to will his dick down to something slightly less embarrassing for the walk back to his seat. So maybe the bills in his pocket are begging to be used for another cause.

For no good reason, Dean is trying to resist the temptation. Maybe it's that he doesn't want to risk moaning his brother's name while some kid who looks vaguely like Cas writhes in his lap. Maybe it's that getting a lap dance from a barely-legal-to-drink _guy_ after only about two hours of admitting there might be some grounds to this whole bisexuality theory seems a bit quick. Or maybe it's just because he's a giant chicken shit. Whichever way is true, he's trying to tell himself it's not a good idea. But then Sam comes back around with the whiskey bottle to top up his glass and Dean notices that the minute he locks eyes with Dean, the kid's pupils blow wide and a quick glance down at his stupid tight pants shows that Sam is half hard, too. Dean pounds the shot before Sam has even righted the bottle, glances back down at Sam's crotch and, thanks to the buzz, speaks without thinking.

"You should keep that thing to yourself, kid, or it could get you into a lot of trouble."

Sam's smile drags across his face slow. "Yeah, but on the up side it could also get some trouble into me."

Dean's heart thunders in his chest and he's feeling that kind of courage that always proceeds doing something incredibly stupid.

"So," Sam says, leaning into Dean's space far enough that his breath puffs against Dean's nose, "what do you say, Trouble?"

Dean gives him a long, lazy, look-down-check-out then focuses it on his face. "What was it you were saying earlier about lap dances?"

Sam gives him a smirk and wraps a slim hand around Dean's wrist. Pulling at Dean's wrist none-too-gently Sam deposits Dean in a chair a little ways from the back so they won't disturb anyone. He starts to open his mouth about price, but this isn't Dean's first rodeo; he pulls two twenties from his pocket and uses his first two fingers to push them into Sam's front pocket.

Sam goggles at him. "Uh, listen Pretty Eyes, I know you're a bit drunk and all, so I feel the need to point out that you just gave me like a $30 tip."

"Then make it worth my time, kid. And the name is Dean."

"Huh?" Sam says, distracted.

Dean follows his gaze to where it's pinned on the hand Dean has resting next to his now-obvious erection.

"Dean," he repeats. "If you're gonna be grinding on my dick, you should at least call me by my name."

Sam's eyes snap back up to Dean's and he licks his lips, but this time the move is unconscious and uncalculated. "Yes, sir," he says, then straddles the seat of the chair. Bending to place his lips near Dean's ear, he growls, " _Dean_."

Dean shudders. The kid only vaguely looks like Cas, with the messy dark hair and slim build, but the rumbling growl of his voice sets Dean's nerves on edge because it's just one more strike in the angelic direction. No. _No._ This isn't about Cas, this is about _Dean_. He shakes his head a little to focus because damn it, a lithe young kid is about to gyrate in his lap; that deserves concentration.

Points to Sam, the kid knows what he's doing. His moves are smooth and in sync with the music, undulating in a sinuous ribbon of movement just above Dean's lap; his thighs squeeze against Dean's so the older man can feel the friction of their legs rubbing together and the heat of Sam's groin just above his own, but never close enough or fast enough to give Dean any relief. Every rotation of Sam's hips brings him closer down towards Dean's and the booze makes his head spin as Dean watches him thrust and snap his hips now as the music escalates; the kid isn't even trying to hide that he's half hard as he moves over Dean. In fact, the triumphant gleam in Sam's eyes when he slams his hands on the high back of the chair, causing Dean's gaze to dart up in surprise, tells Dean that he's probably fucking pleased with himself. Because Sam waits until Dean's eyes are up on his and then lowers himself down onto the hard length of Dean's straining cock and drags himself forward so achingly slowly that Dean thinks he might actually explode. His jeans scrape along him under Sam's weight and Dean can feel the kid firm up against him; he rests his chest against Dean's and rocks his hips in tiny, quick strokes that match the pace of Dean's panting breaths. For the space of a second, Dean forgets himself and his hands leave the arms of the chair, clamping around Sam's hips. When the kid stops moving gives him a single raised eyebrow, Dean quickly raises his hands, spreads them wide at his sides and mumbles, "Sorry. I know, no touching."

"Too bad, too," Sam murmurs and rolls his hips again. "If it weren't the rules, trust me, you could grab me anywhere you want."

Dean thunks his head against the back of the chair just for good measure.

"What's the matter, Dean?" Sam asks playfully. "Having trouble restraining yourself? Do you _want_ to touch me?"

Dean grumbles as Sam lifts himself up off Dean's lap and turns around. "And you called _me_ a fucking tease."

"Yeah, but I'm paid to be a tease," Sam jokes. "And I'd say that right now, you're probably a big fan of my teasing."

He says it as he arches backward at an angle that frankly no human should be able to accomplish, putting his head on Dean's shoulder and thrusting his hips high into the air.

"Cocky bastard," Dean growls and Sam laughs with him as he seats himself on Dean's thighs.

"I dunno," Sam answers, turning his head so that his lips trail across Dean's earlobe as he speaks. "Am I the cocky one right now?" He grinds his hips down against Dean's erection as if to prove his point.

"Ugh, puns," Dean chides but it turns into a groan as Sam sets another slow rhythm, circling his hips to slot the rise of Dean's length into the space between his ass cheeks.

 _Stupid fucking tight pants_ , Dean groans inwardly, but he can't find it in him to be mad about it because now the kid is writhing back and forth and it feels so god-damned close to sex, the smell of sweat and booze and body heat making Dean's head swim. He clutches at the kid's inner thighs as Sam moves in Dean's lap but he chides himself before the kid can do it with another mumbled "Sorry," even though he's not sorry in the least.

Sam ignores him. "Does that feel good, Dean?"

And Sam is panting in Dean's ear now as he rides Dean's lap. There is no writing this off as just a lap dance at this point; the kid is basically dry-humping him in potential full view of a large crowd, and Dean can't even be bothered to care about it.

"Do you like it, feeling my ass pressed up against your cock? Tell me," Sam spits out in a harsher voice than Dean would have expected.

"Yes," Dean answers immediately. "Fuck- _fuck-yes._ "

Sam whirls back astride Dean, boxes him in between his arms again, and this time, Sam wraps his legs around the back of the chair so he can balance with Dean's erection sliding up against his ass over and over again while he's staring Dean dead in the eyes.

"Can you feel my cock against you, too, Dean?" he says and Dean shudders. "No denying it, huh? Definitely not a woman. But it feels so fucking good, doesn't it, Dean?"

Dean whimpers something that might be a yes.

"It's not enough though, is it? You don't want to just feel me rubbing up against you, do you? You want to see what it feels like to be inside me, don't you? See what it feels like to fuck me and stroke my cock at the same time and—"

This time when Dean clutches at Sam's hips it's not at an accident; his grip clamps around the younger man and halts his movements.

"Sam, this needs to stop; _you_ need to stop." He tries to sound commanding but it comes out desperate.

"Why?" Sam asks, sounding a tad baffled. "Wasn't it good?"

"Too fucking good," Dean growls. "Keep it up another minute or so and I'd come like a shot from a gun."

Sam's canary-eating-grin only strengthens Dean's resolve.

"Up," he says, rocking forward to unseat the younger man. "You need to get up. This ain't a lap dance anymore and this sure as hell isn't the place for what you were trying to do just now. I don't want to get thrown out or get you fired."

Sam clambers off Dean's lap, a little surprised, but when Dean tries to gracefully walk away, Sam's hand wraps around his wrist, stopping him.

"Look, I—" Sam stutters to a stop and then regroups, trying to regain his cocky grin. "I get off at three. Stick around and you could too."

Dean closes the few steps between them. "Thanks, kid, but I don't think that's a good idea."

"Dean," Sam says, and the grin disappears, "I don't do this. You know, just … offer like this. But you're different. I don't know why, but you are."

"Thanks again, kid, but—"

Sam's expression hardens a bit and then he tugs at Dean's wrist. Without thinking to question, Dean follows in Sam's wake as he throws a quick, "Matt, I'm taking my fifteen!" to one of the other bartenders and drags Dean out a staff entrance door. It's distinctly quieter out here, though the bass still thumps loud enough to echo in Dean's chest and there's a pungent aroma of cigarette smoke and sweat.

Sam spins to face him and this time, his expression is sad.

"Who is he?"

Dean blinks at the abrupt topic shift. "What?"

"Whoever the hell you're trying to figure yourself out for," Sam says. "Who is he?"

Panic bangs at his ribcage. "I don't know what you—"

"Yes, you do," he snaps off, then lets his expression relax. "Come on, Dean. I was riding your clothed cock in there, you were champing at the bit, and I know damn well that you want me. Hell, we're just standing here talking and you're still rock hard."

He shifts, fighting the urge to clap a hand over his crotch to hide the erection. Pointless now.

"You want me to come home with you; I know you do."

He's right, god damn him, and for a minute Dean lets the possibility of it flash before his eyes. He could wait until the end of Sam's shift, bide his time until the kid is finished and then bundle him into the Impala. Dean can see how it would go: Sam would stroke Dean as he drove; they'd stumble in the door of the motel, kissing and groping for a few minutes; the bare amount of prep would be accomplished and then this hot young thing would make good on his promise, ride Dean's cock until he came seeing stars, and Dean would stroke him until he followed over the edge. Given Sam's youth and the fact that Dean hasn't had a good lay in ages, they'd get in another round eventually, maybe even a third. In the couple of hours it would take to happen, it would probably feel fucking amazing. But then he'd have to take Sam home to some rat trap apartment with five other twenty-somethings just like him or, God forbid, his parents' house. Dean's just too damn old for that shit. More than that, this kid isn't who he wants. Not really.

It had been a running commentary in his head as the kid had writhed in his lap, one that Dean kept pushing away to let himself enjoy things: the hair was right but the eyes were wrong; the jaw was too round; the hips too slim; the body too soft. Dean had been lying to himself, at least partially. It wasn't just about Dean; it _was_ about Cas.

"You're right, Sam," he said, "I _do_ want to you to come home with me but that doesn't mean that you should. So I just can't."

Sam nods, but he's still unhappy. "So who is he?"

When Dean looks away and doesn't answer, Sam huffs, and this time it sounds a bit like laughter.

"You're trying to figure out your sexuality, Dean, and I get that. It's a good thing, not being afraid to work out who you really are. People are here for that all the time. But if it was a she that you were saying no for … well, you wouldn't have come in the first place, you would have worked it out quietly, at home, with her and a friend or maybe a coworker that could get down with a threesome. So it's a he, and he's the reason you aren't saying yes to me. So who is he?"

For whatever reason, despite the fact that Dean never shares-and-cares with pretty much anyone, it tumbles right out of his mouth to this poor hapless bartender.

"My best friend." It comes out choked, as if Dean holds back a sob. _Damn it._

Sam nods. "Well, he's damn lucky."

"He's an angel," Dean says. Sam won't know what he really means but it doesn't matter.

"He damn well better be." The younger man's lips turn up at the end. "He's snagging my lay and I'm going home to my cat, so he better be fucking amazing."

Dean tries to laugh but just squirms. "It isn't like that … I mean, I don't know if he'd even think of me like that."  
"He should," Sam says firmly. He crowds into Dean's space, forcing Dean to look him in the eye. "You're a good man, Dean; I can tell. Just the fact that we're standing here having this conversation instead of ignoring ethics and finding a bathroom stall for me to blow you to tide you over until 3am—"

"Damn it, Sam!"

"—shows that you're quality, and that alone should be enough. But if it isn't, the fact that you've got a mouth made for cock sucking should clinch the fact that this man should beg to hop onto your dick."

" _Sam_ ," Dean scolds, damning the flush on his face.

"Beg, Dean," Sam repeats. "He should _beg_. If he doesn't, don't let that stop you. Find another guy who will. Or, hell, come back to Atlanta and find me."

Dean scrubs both hands over his face as Sam steps back a few paces. He thumbs backwards towards the door.

"I should go back to my shift. And you … you should get the hell out of here before I make good on that threat about the bathroom stall."

Chuckling, Dean answers, "If only every threat I received was like that one."

"Seriously, go. Tell your angel about the begging part and that I said 'fuck you'." Sam smirks. "Go get 'em, Tiger."

Dean sighs, chuckles again at the clusterfuck of weird that is his life and starts walking back towards his baby as the door clangs shut behind Sam.

A/N - I had been kicking around the idea of doing this as a series, with another 5+1 to touch on some of the issues that didn't have a place in this fic – you'll see, in upcoming chapters – and possibly an off-shoot story with SB Sam, but I was so afraid that nobody would like him or that people wouldn't like him enough to want more of him. The responses to last chapter have given me a lot of encouragement that maybe this would be a thing people would like to see? If you would like to see this turn into a series, please feel free to say so in the comments.

Next chapter will feature the actual culmination of the last time that Dean Fucks With Cas. And then … Cas. Fucks. Back. *mwuahahahaha*


	7. Chapter 7

A/N - This is a shorter chapter, but I think you'll see it's an important one. This is the last time Dean Fucks With Cas, so Chapter 8 will start the one time Cas Fucks Back. I know you'll enjoy that one. But pay attention to this one too, as there are some important little goodies hidden in here that will come back to "haunt" Dean in the next chapter.

*mwuah!*  
~~ ** Lady Tuesday ** ~~

 **Chapter Seven – Power Hour**

About five minutes into the fifteen minute journey back to the motel, Dean starts swearing. Loudly. Unfortunately, said swearing is directed at the one person who really had not a hot damn thing to do with the way the evening unfolded.

"God damn it, Cas," he growls, slamming his hand against the steering wheel. "I could have gotten laid tonight. I could have gotten blown _and_ laid by somebody probably almost my age. And why didn't I? Not because it was a guy, which I admit I got comfortable with amazingly fast. Because of you, you awkward, nerdy, personal-space-disrespecting, I'm Completely Indifferent to Sexual Orientation-spouting _fuck."_

He slams Baby's door, not even caring about the noise despite the fact that it's after 2am, stalks into his hotel room and gives that door the same treatment.

"I've gotten my head so twisted around how I feel about you that I had a fucking 25-year-old _limber_ bartender throwing himself at me and I couldn't close the deal, _because of you, Castiel."_

Walking in quick tight circles, Dean strips off his clothing and hurls each piece in random directions, venting his impotent frustration in any way he can. When he gets down to his boxers, Dean realizes that despite the fact that half an hour has passed, he's still half-hard. Dean throws himself backwards onto the bed and growls incoherently at the ceiling, throwing his hands up above him.

"Eight years ago, I couldn't have thrown a fucking rock without hitting a chick who would bend over backwards to ride me like fucking Sea Biscuit and you know what? I was happy with that. And then you stroll your angelic ass into that damn shed with your stupid sex hair and those fucking eyes and the god-damned trench coat." A yelp of anger leaves him. "And it's like you were a fucking tornado that blew away everything I used to be."

The anger blows away now, too, but Dean stares up at the stained popcorn paint above him and keeps talking as if the angel is there listening.

"And you changed everything, man. Everything. Especially after fucking Purgatory. When I found you by that river and I hugged you? Damn it, Cas, my heart raced like it was trying to leap out of my chest and into yours. And once I got out … you know how many times I've gotten laid since Purgatory, Cas? Eight. Eight times in almost four years. Hell, I used to get laid eight times in a freaking weekend. And you know what? Just between you and me? When you got out and you came out of that bathroom, all angel-mojoed and clean-shaven and with that stupid trench coat clean again … I popped wood, dude. Like out of nowhere, BAM. Inappropriate boner, right in front of my freaking brother." Dean sighs. "I should have known then."

He stays quiet for a long moment, letting that moment bubble back up to the front of his mind. "You looked good, that day. After so long in Purgatory, seeing you dirty and scruffy with your mojo dying, and then suddenly, you're all powered up? It was like lightning, Cas, and it went straight to my dick."

One of Dean's hands slides from behind his head down his chest and then right under the waistband of his boxers. He strokes himself slowly, loosely, while he continues his litany to the absent angel.

"I should have known then, but I didn't. Or maybe I just denied it, but it didn't even really hit me until the catacombs when you were beating the shit out of me over the demon tablet. I thought, 'Damn it, he's fucked up in the head, he's going to kill me, and I'm not even going to get to tell him.' I didn't even know what I wanted to tell you then, but I just knew I wasn't gonna get the chance. Three years, man, and I still haven't gotten up the stones to say it."

The stroke of his hand speeds up without Dean even really planning to do it and his hips start rocking into the tight grip of his fist; his breath leaves him with a wheeze.

"I want you, Cas," he groans in a harsh whisper. "I didn't know it at first, was too afraid to look at it, but … God, I want you so fucking much."

He pushes his boxers down with his free hand and uses his thumb to spread around the drops of precome beading at the top of his cock. He's been so on edge all evening that it's not going to take much, but Dean tries to draw it out as much as he can.

"I want you," he mumbles again. "Want you to touch me the way that kid did. How would you do it, Cas? Would you sit in my lap like he did? Growl in my ear with that fucking gravel voice? Wrap your arms around my neck and rock on top of my cock? Let me put my hands on your ass and thrust up against you?"

Dean wriggles against the bed because it isn't just his cock that needs the friction, the touch; he feels like he's going to climb out of his fucking skin if he doesn't get relief, and he needs it everywhere, everywhere. He can feel the itch for it all over him, as if Cas is really here and raking his nails down every fucking square inch of Dean's body all at once. He rolls over onto his stomach, letting the rough scrape of the cheap comforter against his skin scratch at his senses as he thrusts into his fist, burying a moan into the fabric. Turning his head to the side, he lets the words keep tumbling out.

"He wanted me, Cas, and I couldn't do it. I wanted to take this kid home, fuck him senseless just to get you out of my head, and I couldn't do it. I would have kept thinking about you, pictured your lips on mine, your mouth on my cock, your ass in my hands; I would have kept imagining it was you as I fucked him."

Dean pushes his face down into the comforter, his chest heaving with thick breaths, and he's fucking into his fist so hard he may even have bruises tomorrow, but it's still not enough.

"I think you would start all slow and intense, sitting in my lap and just rocking your hips against me, letting my cock push up against the underside of your balls, teasing yourself as much as me. Would you kiss me? I feel like maybe you'd probably just stare at me – the fucking _stare,_ Cas. Jesus, if I were a woman, that stare would make me soak my panties. Maybe you'd just grind on me like that kid did, driving me crazy until I couldn't stand it anymore and just fucking pounced on you."

"Or maybe," Dean says, letting the fantasy spin out of his head and into his mouth as he pictures it, "maybe you'd want to draw it out. How would you start, Cas? Would you suck me off? Wouldn't be the first time I've pictured that happening. You on your knees, stretching your lips around my cock. I bet you could take me all the way down to the back of your throat. God damn, that mouth of yours; just the idea of pushing my dick between those lips makes me want to come."

His skin is on fire and he just wants more, more, more; he remembers when he was at home in the bunker and rolls back over onto his back, spitting quickly onto his fingers because he doesn't even want to stop thrusting long enough to scrounge for lube. When Dean presses his left thumb back down behind his balls and pushes a finger inside his ass without bothering to be slow about it, a ragged moan leaves his lips and he starts up babbling.

"I wouldn't though, Cas; not in your mouth. I'd pull you back up into my lap, push my tongue into your mouth, taste myself there. You could stroke both of our dicks together while I stretched you out on my fingers – _fuck!"_

Some marvelous twist of fate while rocking his hips allows the finger he's got inside him to brush up against his prostate. Dean's legs almost go out from under him with the jolt of pleasure, but he manages to press down hard. He can't keep still, his muscles are twitching and jerking, and he's all over the bed.

"That's why I couldn't fuck that kid, Cas. I would want it to be you. Your hands on my skin, your mouth, your cock in my hands. Your voice in my ear, telling me I'm sexy, telling me how much you want me, how good I feel against you. Did you hear what that kid said about you, Cas? Did you hear him say that you should beg to hop onto my cock? _Would_ you beg? Jesus, I think I would come just hearing you say it. Would you say it for me, Cas? I want to hear you say how much you want to fuck me."

Another finger inside and a few hard strokes push him over the edge, all three syllables of Cas's full name coating his lips as he falls. Dean shatters when he comes, and he's almost certain he passes out for at least a few minutes because when he becomes aware of himself again, the puddle of come on his stomach is mostly cold and the clock reads 3:02 AM. Well, Sam wasn't wrong, it turns out. He got off at 3:00, too.

A/N - Obviously they never actually acknowledge that Dean gets an erection when Cas comes out of the bathroom after he gets back from Purgatory but ... come ON. I defy anyone to watch that sequence and tell me it's anything other than Dean rearranging a boner. I mean, Jensen Ackles could have chosen literally ANY other gesture if all he was trying to convey was nervousness/anxiety/discomfort/etc, but Cas walks out of a bathroom after an ugly duckling transformation and Dean just HAPPENS to adjust his CROTCH?! Nope. Inappropriate boner. End of freaking list.

As I mentioned, next chapter starts where Cas Fucks Back, which I am so freaking excited about you guys seeing. Can't wait. ^_^


	8. Chapter 8

A/N - Okay, so ... when prepping this chapter to post, I realized ... there's no actual smut in this chapter. *ducks and covers head* Don't kill me! This absolutely IS the beginning of the confrontation with Cas and it IS very important, they just don't get 'down to business' in this chapter. But ... think of it as an entire chapter of foreplay. Because that's pretty much exactly what it is. And you find out Cas's reaction to the whole thing. So trust me, I don't think you'll be disappointed. Also, I promise some really good Destiel smut starts in the next chapter, and chapters 9-11 are basically ALL smut.

Many thanks to my sister/beta, SkeptiKitten, for the origin of the phrase "pathetic, whining needy cockslut", which I just HAD to use. Because reasons.

Also, in case I hadn't mentioned it before, this is set nebulously at the beginning of season 12. I wanted to make it as "timeless" as possible, but there are some minor references to the events of the end of season 11, and since season 12 starts tomorrow (*incoherent shrieking*), I figured I'd get the setting established.

Hope you enjoy, and I promise the Destiel porn starts ASAP,

~~ ** Lady Tuesday ** ~~

* * *

 **Chapter Eight – Touched by an Angel**

Dean almost wishes that the case had been more than a simple salt-and-burn. It became insanely obvious that the big bad in this case was the ghost of an animal rights activist that had been run down in an alley by the leader of a dog fighting ring, and the spirit had been working his way through all of the local ring runners. Of course, only assholes like Dean would have found their methods of death funny – like, seriously, one of the dudes suffocated because a squeaky toy got lodged in his esophagus; every time he tried to ask for help, he just squeaked – but in the end, he just burned the bones of the poor dog lover and that was that. In fact, he almost hated doing it because after having a dog's noggin for a couple of days, Dean thinks that those dog fighting assholes got exactly what they deserved but he can't in good conscience leave a ghost running all over hell killing people, so supernatural cookout it is.

All in all, it only ate up about 36 hours of time, which is a damn shame because Dean's still got that itchy unsettled feeling that he did when he came back from the club he other night. He had hoped that the case would take his mind off the kid at the bar and sexual revelations and most of all Cas, but the distraction proves minimal at best. Dean's dragging his feet packing his shit up because there's a tickle at the back of his mind telling him that despite the fact that he cleaned up after himself this afternoon, something about this ain't over yet. He puts in a quick call to Sam and gives him some lame-ass reason to stay in Atlanta another night because he just can't shake that jittery feeling of anticipation. Dean's packed his bag, gassed up his baby, eaten lunch, and field stripped and cleaned the two weapons he used today, but he still feels an adrenaline jolt that won't let him sit still. Something's gaining on him, he knows it, and whatever the hell it is that zip in his spine says it's a bad-ass motherfucker. Nothing's popping up though, so he takes a shower just to give himself something else productive to do.

He's still shuffling a towel over his head when he leaves the bathroom, barefoot in just his jeans, so that's probably why he doesn't hear the telltale rustling noise. It's the only warning that comes before a strong forearm presses across his pecs in a relentless bar, slamming Dean backwards against the wall. He barely processes the fact that either Cas sharing digs with Lucifer means he also can 'fly' again or that Continental can tear up miles better than Dean thought because he is currently being stared down by six feet of powered-up angel, and man, does Cas look _pissed._

"Hey Cas," Dean attempts in a falsely cheery voice, but the forearm across his chest slides up to press down on his throat.

Dean's hands automatically fly up to clutch at his friend's flesh but it's no good; not only does Cas have literally inhuman strength, but he's clearly furious and clutching at Dean's shoulder with the same hand as the arm pressing down on his throat, so anything Dean does to struggle only serves to tighten Cas's hold. He forces himself to relax and breathe as normally as he can but his hands still grip the trench coat out of reflex. The angel's eyes narrow, a fierce strip of bright blue that feels like it's boring into Dean's head.

"What do you think you're trying to prove, Dean?"

Dean opens his mouth to give some wise ass crack, tries to give another cocky smirk, but it's an obvious mistake. Cas's voice sharpens as he spits out another question.

"What reaction were you trying to get out of me, exactly?" Cas bites off. "And consider your words _very carefully_ before you say them, because I am extremely displeased with you at the moment."

"Yeah, I'm kinda getting that," Dean wheezes, starting to feel light-headed at the restriction on his air flow.

The brace across his throat moves back to his chest and Dean gulps in air as inconspicuously as he can. Before Dean can answer, Cas uses the hand he still has at Dean's shoulder to shake him a few times, thumping Dean's head against the wall next to the bathroom door sill.

"Do you find this funny, Dean? Goading me? Taunting me? Making me into a laughingstock in front of all of my brethren?"

"Laughingstock?" Dean asks, baffled. "How are you a laughingstock? And brethren? How would anyone even—?"

 _"You prayed to me!"_ Cas barks. "Speaking to an angel who isn't present isn't just idle chatter, Dean; it's prayer! After eight years, I would expect you to know that. And what's worse, after the entire debacle with Gadreel, I would _expect_ you to know that prayer isn't only heard by the angel that you are speaking to. The entire Host witnessed your 'conversation' with me last night!"

Dean's heart leaps from his chest into his throat. Oh. My. Chuck.

"The desires and longings inside your head were one thing – torturous enough, but at least they remained between the two of us because they stayed inside your head!"

Cas drops his arm from Dean's chest, but given the fact that he only does it so he can grip both of Dean's shoulders and shake him again, it's not really an improvement.

"But last night you decided that flaunting your sexual fantasies to me inside your head wasn't sufficient. _Of course_ teasing me relentlessly for weeks with a scrolling visual catalog of mental sex acts couldn't have been enough for you; you had to undo a month's worth of painstaking work I've been engineering in an attempt to reestablish a favorable connection with my brothers and sisters. And what exactly did you hope to accomplish here, Dean? Because thanks to your little nocturnal pornography narration, I've gone from being a pariah the likes of Lucifer to—"

Cas's voice hitches for a second, and although he still looks righteously – and rightfully – ticked off, his cheeks tinge pink with embarrassment.

"I believe the wording that my sister Saffiya used was that I had sided with humans, and you in particular, for so long because I was 'itching to _beg to hop onto your dick,'"_ he seethes, ferocious, "and that it had turned me into 'a pathetic, whining, needy cockslut.'"

Being unable to restrain a snort of laughter is clearly the wrong move for Dean to make at this juncture. In an instant, Cas's hand grips Dean's chin so hard it's going to leave marks and his face is so close to Dean's that the hunter can feel the angel's breath ghosting along his cheekbones.

"So I'll ask you again, Dean," Cas demands, "what were you trying to accomplish with this little display?"

Cas chooses a Smitey Bitchface of epic levels and Dean isn't afraid to admit, at least to himself, that he is a tiny bit terrified.

"What could you hope gain from exploiting my partiality for you? Why now? And why with repeated instances of us being sexually involved, Dean? What possible benefit could you reap that?" Cas asks, and the sideways head tilt of confusion doesn't make him look less fierce, but it does make Dean's heart throb in his chest. He tells himself that it's born of fear, maybe even a little nostalgia for the old naïve Cas, but the tingle that ripples through him marks him as a liar.

"Benefit?" Dean responds. "What the hell do you mean, 'benefit'? I thought it was pretty god-damned clear why that stuff was going through my head."

"No," Cas grunts.

The angel's hands drop from Dean's shoulders and although he doesn't move that far away, Dean's feels the distance yawn like a chasm.

"No," the angel repeats, "you were leveraging my … weakness for you for some unknown reason, and it absolutely destroyed all the work I've done for months, trying to ingratiate myself with my brothers and sisters again, and—"

"Leveraging your weakness?" Dean says, and why the hell can't he seem to keep from parroting what Cas says? But seriously, _leveraging?_ "You honestly think I was, what, making fun of you? Maybe at the beginning I was just enjoying, I don't know, yanking your chain because you're so serious all the time but … after that first time—" Dean chews off the end of the sentence and swears under his breath. "Cas, I prayed to you what I did because I … because I've started to feel …."

Dean's hands clench and release at his side several times before he can force out the words.

"That first time was an accident; I didn't mean to … but the minute I _did_ think of you and me… _together_ , it felt … it was the sexiest thing I've felt in ages. And I just, I guess, got carried away."

Cas grimaces and gives him a fierce, mocking leer. "An understatement to say the least. And instead of choosing to discuss it with me in a mature and _private_ manner, you decided that the best course of action was to torment me mentally for weeks and then humiliate me when the entire Host could hear you?"

Okay, now Dean's pissed. "Oh, because you're such an easy man to find when you've fucked off to wherever the fuck you go _every time I need you?_ You zap in when I'm in major shit, yes, but then you ditch me at every possible opportunity. The man with the decades of abandonment issues. And I'm still supposed to just sweetly talk to the fucking air and say, 'hey Cas, I know you haven't checked in with me in fucking weeks even after you thought I was dead, but I'm having a bit of a sexuality crisis here, so could you flutter your happy ass down here so we can have a cordial chat about how I want to bend you over a chair and—'?"

Dean tries to shoulder past Cas and at least put a shirt on, because having this discussion half-naked now seems like an incredibly bad idea, but Cas grabs him by the wrist and heaves, and this time, Dean slams into the wall with enough force that his head swims a bit. Cas moves so close they actually bump noses.

"I scoured the countryside for you, half out of my mind, when I found out you were alive; I traveled across the world to help you rescue Sam. After everything we've been through, questioning my devotion at this point is almost as insulting as it is ridiculous. But you seem to forget at the most convenient moments that I have other obligations, Dean, and that I am not some pithy being designed to be at your beck and call."

Dean attempts to fight him again, but Cas brings a hand back to his face, crowds into his space enough that the trench coat scrapes along Dean's chest and Dean's nostrils fill with the scent of grass and wind and that ozone smell right after a lightning strike. If Dean didn't know better, he would think that Cas's whole body could crackle with electricity.

"I told you once, Dean, back in Bobby Singer's kitchen: you should show me some respect. I'm not just 'a baby in a trench coat', I'm not 'that nerdy dude with wings'. I am the only seraph left of the scores that once roamed Heaven; I witnessed the creation of your entire world; I vanquished countless scores of minions of Hell in order to liberate you from the Pit. And that was before I even began to think about altering the entire course of history _for you._ Whatever else I am, I'm still more powerful than you can even conceive of, and somewhere along the line you've forgotten that, Dean. I am not to be toyed with, and I will remind you of that forcibly if I must."

Dean shivers. In spite of himself, he is suddenly and inescapably aroused and the little quirk at the edge of Cas's lips tells Dean that, god damn it, the angel knows it. The fingers on his face relax from a grip to a caress, but it's not soft. It's almost … possessive.

"So let's discuss your 'sexuality crisis,' Dean. Because it occurs to me that it is entirely linked to your drastic need to be reeducated regarding respect." He pauses, considers Dean for a moment, and then continues. "Let's start by clearing up one item of misunderstanding that I noticed in all of your thorough and _creative_ imaginings about the two of us, Dean. In all of the fantasies I witnessed, I noticed that you painted yourself in an unflaggingly dominant role. You seem to be under the impression that you are the one in control here." Cas tilts his head, studies Dean's eyes again, and gives a tiny, sharp smile as his fingers curl around the back of Dean's neck. "Allow me to disabuse you of that notion."

Dean's breath shudders in his chest as Cas's thumb glides across Dean's face. Cas's voice is quiet and smooth for all its deepness as he regards Dean, and Dean can't help but think that the angel intends to taunt _him_ now.

"I've watched all these visions very closely over the past few weeks, Dean, and I've felt the …" Cas's pause is minimal, but punctuated with a marked inhale of breath, _"longing_ that has permeated every one of the fictions your mind has spun out. You see yourself as a strong, dominant creature when it comes to sex, Dean, yet even before exploring the possibility of sex with men, you always tended to choose women who were strong, assertive, sexually aggressive; you favored women who were pursuing you. In essence, you chose women who took up the traditionally male role. And despite the fact that you are the one initiating all of the sexual acts in each of these fantasies you've created about me, you're always looking to me for _control_. You picture yourself undressing me, yet you imagine me to be the one aggressing upon you; you see yourself as the one penetrating me on the seat of your car, but you imagine me to be writhing in your lap, dragging you down on top of me, pulling you inside me. You depict _yourself_ orally stimulating me … what did you call it, Dean? A … rim job? You were the one performing it on _me,_ weren't you?

"And last night, despite putting me into the role of performing oral sex on you and then being prepared to be penetrated, you kept _asking_ me what I would allow you to do to me. You wanted to hear me say how much _I_ wanted to fuck _you_. And through it all, you pleasured yourself with fingers pressed inside your body. Tell me, Dean: what were those fingers for? What did they _feel like_ to you?"

A noisy gasp leaves Dean and he doesn't bother to stop it because he's practically panting now, his eyes wide with panic, his heart thundering in his chest as Cas gets so close that his lips brush Dean's when he speaks.

"So perhaps I should teach you respect, Dean, by reminding you of which of us is truly in control."

* * *

A/N - Get ready, loves, because Chapter 9 features one of my favorite things in SPN: BAMF!Cas.


	9. Chapter 9

Because I don't want to bias your reactions, the next three chapters will be presented largely without comment.

~~ ** Lady Tuesday ** ~~

* * *

 **Chapter Nine – Lip Service**

Dean focuses on breathing. It seems the only sensible thing to do when your same sex best friend has you pinned to a wall in a seedy motel, discussing your bisexuality crisis fantasies and threatening to Fifty Shades of Grey you into orgasmic oblivion. He's not completely sure about the orgasming part, but pretty god-damned certain, considering that Cas hasn't taken his hand away from Dean's face and leers at Dean like he intends to devour him. That and the extremely suggestive fact that Dean is at least 93% sure that he feels a raging hard-on pressed against him where Cas straddles his thigh.

Okay, breathe, Dean. _Breathe._

"So the issue, Dean, is how to best instruct you." Cas wrinkles his brow as he frowns, making a show of considering the issue. "Maybe since you seemed intent on taunting me, I should remind you who you're dealing with by simply taking what I want."

Dean swallows. He knows it will 'break character', but he has to ask: "Do you really want me, Cas?"

The stare Cas gives him is expressionless, but not unkind. "I have always wanted you, Dean. That was never in question."

"Then what _is_ the question?"

"Whether you actually wanted me in return or whether this was just an experiment for you. Whether you were just tugging on the strings that bind us together as an outlet for your frustration."

Another hard swallow. "I do want you, Cas. It terrifies the hell out of me how much I want you."

Cas's mouth quirks up again for a moment and then the expression becomes sharp. "Then you should have no problem giving me what I came here for."

Dean leans back unconsciously, trying to evade the predatory smile, and tries again to focus on breathing. "What?" he says, and he clears his throat to keep his voice from cracking. "What did you come here for?"

"Pleasure, Dean," he says calmly. "I came here for every single sinful pleasure your body can give. Maybe I should just take it from you. But where to start?"

The fact that he's so motherfucking blasé about the whole thing should probably terrify Dean. Instead, he's rock hard, heart racing like freaking NASCAR, and every inch of skin tingles while he's wondering where Cas will touch next. The angel decides to go for Dean's face, trailing his fingers along Dean's cheek to run his thumb just on the outside corner of Dean's lips.

"You know, your 'friend' was wrong about me 'begging to hop onto your dick' of course," and Dean thinks Cas keeps saying it just because Dean's heart pounds when he does, "but he certainly wasn't wrong about your mouth."

 _Jesus, what had Sam said?_ He can barely clear his thoughts, but then it hits him, just as Cas drags that thumb across his bottom lip. Sam had said that Dean's mouth was made for—

"Is that where I should start, Dean? Remind you of who I am by pushing you to your knees and thrusting into your mouth, taking my pleasure between your lips?"

 _Fuck. Fuck fuckety fuck fuck fuck_ —Dean's mind loops it over a few times as two of Cas's fingers take the place of his thumb. Just the tips of the angel's fingers slip between his lips and he can't stop himself: Dean darts his tongue forward and licks the pads of those digits, a wolfish smile on his friend's mouth as Cas drags them across his lip and lets go, leaving a wet line down Dean's chin.

"I think you would enjoy that more than you might imagine, Dean. Perhaps too much for it to really be a lesson in obedience. So, maybe another choice."

Cas's fingers grip both of Dean's wrists and draw his arms up, pinning them to the wall above his head, and causing the hunter to shiver as the angel drags his fingers lightly down the insides of Dean's arms towards his chest.

"You are such an exquisite creature, Dean. I have always seen how brightly your soul shines, but your body—" Cas's gaze follows the path of his hands along Dean's arms, "truly one of my Father's most beautiful creations. I didn't really understand my craving for it – for _you_ – until I was human, when I first was able to look at you and see your body as other humans do."

Dean's not quite sure why but he leaves his arms up over his head, flush against the wall, as Cas strokes down his arms, skimming across his pecs and tracing his collarbone. Pulling one hand in close to skim up Dean's throat, Cas trails the other down his sternum achingly slow. The angel brings his face right up next to Dean's, watching his own fingers as they skim up the side of Dean's neck; Dean cranes his chin up without thought, giving Cas more of his skin to ply with the light touch.

"I could allow my hands to traverse all of your flesh. I must admit, I am a bit possessive about it. After all, I built it back for you when I pulled you from Hell, Dean. I crafted the entirety of your body with my own hands, inch by inch."

Because Dean is Dean, he can't resist: "Yeah, all seven and a half of 'em."

Without even looking up from where he draws his hands together on Dean's breastbone, Cas corrects, "Seven and three-eighths, Dean. Don't be smug."

The fact that a little bit of their normal banter sneaks in squeezes at Dean's heart and he just has to keep it going. "So you _did_ touch my junk," he quips.

Cas snaps his head up and locks eyes with Dean, his hands circling Dean's rib cage. "And I intend to again." When Dean's chest inflates like a bellows, the angel leans in and enunciates, _"Thoroughly._ But the more you attempt to goad me into a response, the more determined I will become to make you wait and suffer as I have waited and suffered. Maybe that's how I should teach you patience, Dean. Perhaps instead of using my hands, I should satisfy another curiosity."

"Tell me, Dean: do you taste the way you smell? No matter how frequently you bathe, you always smell the same." Cas presses his nose to the hollow of Dean's throat just below his ear and inhales deeply. "Like whiskey and leather and motor oil and gunpowder." He pulls in another lungful. "And cinnamon."

Even though he knows it's coming, Dean still sucks in a huge gulp of air when the flat of Cas's tongue strokes up the bolt of his jaw. He pants outright as Cas catches the edge of Dean's earlobe with his tongue and he can't control his breathing when Cas leaves a trail of open-mouthed sucking kisses across his jaw, down his throat, over the wing of his collar bone.

"I've always wondered: do the spots on your jaw where your stubble grows taste the same as your throat, where your skin is smooth? Does the spot on your chest that bears this mark," he traces the outline of Dean's tattoo with his tongue; Dean whimpers, "taste the same as your shoulder, where you used to bear my mark?"

Dean swears loudly when the sucking kiss that Cas leaves on his left shoulder ends with a bite over the skin that used to house the handprint. He's trying so hard to resist pushing Cas faster than the angel means to go. Dean knows that will only end in denial and more torment so he clutches his hands together, still raised over his head, and hits them against the wall a few times to help him focus on anything other than Cas's wandering mouth.

That effort becomes infinitely more difficult when Cas asks, "Does your left nipple taste the same as your right?" and puts his tongue into the quest of finding out.

When Cas employs his teeth in the process again, Dean can't take it anymore. He drops his arms from above him and arches off the wall, threading his fingers into Cas's hair and clutching hard. Cas allows that for, oh, about a millisecond before he pulls back and scowls.

"I thought I made it clear, Dean," he growls. "You will get what I decide you will get, _when_ I decide you will get it."

Cas brings his thumb and forefinger together in mid-air in a weird pinching gesture and Dean's wrists snap together. A light flick of the angel's hand and his wrists are pinned to the wall above his head; Dean barely even needs to tug on them a few times to know that Cas somehow angel-mojoed restraints, but he does it anyway on principle. He's a tad ashamed to admit that being stretched out and pinned to the wall while Cas goes back to playing Oral Oregon Trail on Dean's chest makes him so hard he feels a bit light-headed again. In an immediate departure from its previous thundering gallop, Dean's heart seems to stutter to a stop when Cas drops to his knees.

"Does your stomach," Cas sucks at the skin just below Dean's navel, "taste the same as your hip?" The angel's tongue swipes all the way from Dean's belly button to the hollow between his stomach muscles and his hip, biting down again when he reaches the flare of his hip bone. It takes Dean a minute to realize that the repeated banging noise comes from his own hands pounding the wall above his head and that yes, that's his own mouth letting out a string of gasping whines. Cas moves back to the center of Dean's body but he's just breathing hot gusts of air low on Dean's belly.

"And what about here, Dean? What do you taste like here?"

Cas looks up from where he crouches in front of Dean, blue eyes blazing into Dean's, and runs just the flat of his thumb down the prominent rise of Dean's erection. If he wasn't growling out every curse word he can think of, Dean would probably be reduced to incoherent gibbering. Jesus, this is the first touch to his dick and he's already so keyed up that he's aching.

"Would you like me to find out, Dean?" Cas asks calmly, gazing up at Dean.

"Fuck, man, I never would have pegged you for such a cocktease," Dean grumbles.

"That's because you haven't been paying attention, Dean," he hisses back, lightning fast.

Cas lifts himself to his feet so fast that his whole chest scrapes along Dean's cock as he rights himself and Dean can't help but bite out an angry, _"fuck!"_ at the sensation.

"I will decide what you get, Dean, because I know what you need," Cas growls. "And now I know exactly where to start."

Dean doesn't even have time to question it. Cas just clasps Dean's face in both hands and crashes their lips together.

* * *

A/N - I was 100% not kidding when I said that the Destiel sex would span the course of three solid chapters. Part 2 will be coming on Wednesday ... but will Dean? *smirky face*


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten – A Job Worth Doing**

If Dean didn't know better, he might say that Cas is actually fucking him instead of just kissing. The instant their mouths touch, Cas lets out a groan and maneuvers Dean's head to an angle that allows him to suck Dean's bottom lip into his mouth, bite down on it, smooth his tongue over the spot that throbs. Dean threads his tongue between Cas's lips and plunges in, exploring as much of the heat of the angel's mouth as he can, pulling against his invisible restraints to chase him. He's more than a little proud of himself at the series of moans and grunts he gets in response to the way he curls his tongue against Cas's, tickles at the roof of the angel's mouth, slides against the other man's tongue, but if he thought that Cas would be docile or naïve in response, damn was he 100% wrong. Cas thrusts and plunges and angles and nips; Dean is god-damned good at kissing but he's floored to find that Cas is not just keeping up with him, he's got Dean fighting just to keep his head above water. It feels less like a kiss than it does a fucking _assault_ , and Dean's ready to admit that this might be one fight he'd be happy to lose.

The angel's hands move from Dean's face to run over his neck, shoulders, and chest, squeezing and clutching in some places, stroking in others. One of Cas's hands clamps on Dean's hip and drags their groins together, allowing Dean to pull back with a gasp; Cas's other hand comes up to press down on Dean's clasped wrists and he attacks Dean's neck with his mouth. A series of unmanly whimpers and _ahs_ and _fucks_ leave his mouth when Cas turns, slots their erections next to each other, and starts up a tight rotation of his hips, chafing his length against Dean's in a way that makes Dean's eyes cross.

Cas's lips climb Dean's neck back to his mouth, and the tone of this kiss differs so wildly that it throws Dean for a loop. What he's expecting is another feverish attack that ravages his mouth, but what he gets is Cas sliding his tongue along Dean's in long, passionate strokes that steal his breath. It's … seductive. As much as he hates to use that word, there's no doubt that this is Cas's endgame with this particular kiss; he's seducing Dean. Languid, ravishing strokes that undulate through every corner of his mouth make Dean feel like every muscle is melting in response. He's going pliable and weak as the motion of Cas's hips against Dean's turn from frenzied thrusts to voluptuous circles of friction that pull hiccupping breaths from Dean's chest into the angel's mouth. He barely even notices when Cas's hands move down his chest and start plucking at the button of his jeans. A zip of cooler air on his crotch brings Dean back to the present and he groans when Cas's hand slides into the gap between the open fly of his jeans and the cotton of his boxers. A maddeningly thin layer of fabric lays between Dean's aching flesh and Cas's stroking fingers. The barrier is enough to have Dean babbling.

"Oh, thank fuck," he mutters into the trench coat as he drops his head to Cas's shoulder. "I thought you were never going to touch my cock."

"Perhaps I shouldn't," Cas says into Dean's hair. "Perhaps I should teach you your place by leaving you unsatisfied."

Dean's head shoots up. "No!" he practically shouts.

"No?" Cas answers, his voice hard and pointed.

Dean tries again. "Please, Cas," he says, trying to bring down his tone; he knows the angel wants him cowed and respectful, and though he strains against the idea, he tries. _"Please."_

The angel narrows his eyes but nods. "Better," he confirms. "Shall I reward you, then, for behaving?"

Dean's eyebrows wing up. Okay, definitely could not have predicted that Cas would actually have a bit of Fifty Shades in him, but a reward can't possibly be bad, right?

"Please," Dean says again, and it was clearly the right response because Cas smiles.

Without taking his eyes off Dean's, Cas pushes at Dean's jeans until they slide over his hips and then his boxers are shoved down with them. Dean's eyelids flutter closed, so he doesn't see what Cas is doing, just notices the lack of body heat. Cas has moved away. Why? He's eyes snap open again when there's puffs of breath against the taut skin of his hip. Cas kneels in front and just a tad to the right of where Dean is strung up and panting, his head cocked to one side as he regards Dean's jutting erection with a serene, curious expression.

"I've never done this before," he says mildly, eyes flicking from Dean's dick to his face. "I assume you'll overlook my inexperience."  
"Yes, _yes,"_ Dean gabbles. "Just please—"  
His words heave an abrupt halt. The brush of the tip of Cas's nose against his shaft surprises him, not what he expected, but then the angel's tongue darts out and flattens against the base of his cock and his breath shudders. All Cas really does is turn his head, but it drags the flat of his tongue up the length of Dean's erection slowly – god, fuck, _so slowly_ – and when he sits back on his heels and curls his tongue around the head, Dean wobbles on his feet and practically sees stars. The point of Cas's tongue snakes in a circle around the top of his dick and he makes a humming noise deep in his throat. Whether it's a good thing or a bad thing or just a confused learning thing fuck if Dean knows, but since a steadying hand comes up to wrap around Dean just above his balls, he's hopeful that it's a "I like this and want to continue" thing. Unfortunately for Dean's temper, Cas repeats the slow exploratory lick down the other side as well – which makes him want to grind his teeth in impatience – but Cas immediately follows it up by taking first one and then the other of Dean's testicles into his mouth and sucking, which makes the muscles in Dean's thighs shudder with the effort to keep still. By the time Cas starts licking up the underside Dean is panting and his dick leaks just a tiny bit of precome that drags across Cas's cheek, and Dean can't help but stare at it. Taking Cas's inquisitiveness as the God-send it's turning out to be, Dean is wise enough to shut the hell up and let the angel satisfy his curiosity.

When Cas finally does wrap his lips around the head and take as much of Dean into his mouth as he can, it does become clear that Cas wasn't lying; he hasn't done this before. He sets a steady pace of forward-back sucking that is too slow by half and maybe a bit wetter than it should be – but hey, Dean's never had a dick in his mouth, so who is he to judge saliva production? That being said, it is by far the best that any kind of sex has felt to him in ages. Years. Maybe since Lisa, and six years is a fuck of a long time to be having what is apparently sub-standard sex with women when he could have been doing this with Cas. Whatever he lacks in style and technique, he's making up for in enthusiasm because the humming increases (which, _Jesus Christ,_ has Dean's eyes rolling back) and when he dares to look down at the sight, he has to bite his lip to keep from teetering close to the edge of coming. It doesn't stop a loud moan from coming out though, which makes Cas glance up and catch Dean's gaze.

The position Dean has to finagle to see Cas properly, pulling at his shoulder joints because of his hands still pinned over his head, is uncomfortable as hell but it's worth the view. "God damn," Dean mutters in a rough half-whisper.

Cas quirks a brow but doesn't stop sucking, his tongue curling up against the little ridge at the head of Dean's cock.

"Jesus, that has to be the sexiest thing I have ever seen in my life: you on your knees with my cock in your mouth, looking up at me with those eyes. You've got the most perfect eyes I've ever seen in my life. I swear, Cas, I've never had to try so hard not to come."

Cas pulls away, sitting back on his haunches. "I should stop then," he says, a frown putting a crease between his brows.

"No, no, you don't have to. Please, I'll just—"

Fuck, when did _Dean_ become the one so eager to beg?

"No, Dean," Cas says firmly, and now he's rising to his feet. "I'm not done with you, and I have no intention of allowing you to finish. Not yet."

His hands slide up Dean's chest as he rights himself. A tap of fingers and Dean's 'restraints' release. He can't help but roll his shoulders against the uncomfortable twinge of soreness. Cas's slim digits wrap around each of Dean's shoulders and as the fingers knead at the thick ropes of muscles, Dean feels the cold tingle that accompanies him healing Dean.

"I have more I want to do with you, Dean," Cas says firmly, a resolute stare into Dean's green eyes. He makes an imperious gesture with one hand. "Turn."

Dean's joints move stiffly despite Cas's healing; he wonders if it's to do with nervousness. As soon as Dean's facing the wall, Cas uses his knee to nudge Dean's legs further apart and now Dean knows it's nervousness. Cas smooths his slender body against Dean's back, and the fact that Dean is only an inch or so taller means that the undeniable hard rise of Cas's erection slides into the now-open space at the top of his thighs and nudges at the back of his testicles. Dean's heart races and his arms twitch at his sides. He doesn't want to admit that he's scared now, but damn it he's _scared._ What is Cas going to do? Is he going to—? He wouldn't want to—not without at least _preparing_ him a little?

Cas reaches down and lifts both of Dean's arms, guiding him to lay his palms flat against the wall. Now Dean's more than a little afraid that Cas _is_ going to fuck him, preparation or not, but Cas just mouths at the side of Dean's neck again, occasionally sucking hard enough that Dean's pretty sure he's going to have a couple sizable hickeys. Fuck it, they'll be a proud "I Got Laid" badge and there's nothing wrong with that. Cas begins thrusting his pelvis against the round of Dean's ass and that sets him groaning again; Dean is definitely man enough to admit that between Cas's mouth and his dick, it feels better than he imagined to have another guy's cock pushing against the back of his balls, the friction just under his ass scraping his nerve endings and leaving him rocking back into the angel's rhythm. All he'd need to do would be to set up a good, firm tug on his dick and it'd be over in no time. He starts to reach down to do just that, but he remembers what Cas said about not being finished and puts his hand back on the wall.

Cas mumbles approval into Dean's neck – "Good, Dean; very good" – and then the kisses trail over Dean's shoulder, down his back, and dart away as Cas's hands push at Dean's pants, letting them puddle on the floor at his ankles. Some rustling at his feet and Cas must have mojoed his clothes somewhere else because Dean is suddenly _very aware_ that he's bare-assed naked with a very clothed, very determined angel squatting behind him, out of sight. Dean's about to crane his neck to see what Cas is doing but the clasp of hands on his ass cheeks make him jerk. Before he can even think to ask the question, Dean yelps in surprise and jolts forward into the wall because the sensation of spongy wetness suddenly registers _in his ass._

Cas just _licked his ass._ Dean moans unconsciously as the wetness moves in a stripe from just behind his balls all the way up to the top of his cheeks. _Twice. Cas just licked his ass_ _twice._

"Jesus Fucking Christ!" he bites out because the tongue moves again, seemingly determined to cover every fucking inch of real estate down the crack of his ass. Dean is fairly sure that if Cas's hands weren't clenched on his skin, keeping him upright and spread open, Dean's knees would have given out by now and he would have ended up in a sprawled heap on the floor.

If the level of enthusiasm on the licking is anything to go by, Cas remains completely unperturbed by Dean's startled reaction. He drags a few long, slow swipes straight up the center, plants a few sucking kisses along Dean's cheeks, curling his lips around whole sections of skin to suck into his mouth, seemingly determined to test out every possible method of applying his mouth and tongue to Dean's ass and _holy fuck could Dean not have predicted how this would feel._ Seeing the video had been one thing, and Dean had been surprised how much it appealed to him. Having someone actually do it to him proves to be something else entirely because if Dean thought he had to struggle not to come before, the only thing holding him back now is that he's not touching his cock. Once more, he reaches down to wrap his hand around his cock because god damn it, he's _aching_ and leaking and he's not sure how much more of this he can take.

Cas swats at his wrist. "No, Dean. Not yet."

The instant Cas finishes speaking, he's back burying his face between Dean's cheeks. This time, it isn't licks or kisses; the point of Cas's tongue begins to press inside, slow jabs that eat away at Dean's resolve as Cas's stubble scrapes against his skin. He can't help it, he whimpers. He can't seem to make himself stop the path of his hand either.

 _"_ _Dean!"_ Cas chides forcefully when he notices Dean's hand around his cock again.

Dean only gets a few tight strokes in before an unseen force yanks his hands away and pins them back to the wall above his head.

"If you can't restrain yourself, I will do it for you," Cas growls. He says it against the skin of Dean's right ass cheek and perhaps because of Dean's disobedience, when Cas reapplies himself to the task he's merciless.

This time it isn't little jabs that push just the tip of Cas's tongue into Dean's body. The whole of Cas's tongue pushes in and the pressure is uncomfortable and then unbelievable and then unholy good and Dean's hips start rocking back against Cas's face. It seems like barely any time at all before the tongue becomes a finger. Pressure turns into a stinging burn, only that feels good too and Dean's fingers scrabble for purchase on the cheap wallpaper but find nothing to hold on to. His nails dig into his palms when one finger becomes two. Every breath punches out of him on a tiny moan and he's standing on his toes, angling his hips and pushing back onto the fingers as they slide into him. Cas leans forward and sucks at the skin on the back of his testicles as he crooks his fingers in just the right way and Dean howls. Every nerve ending in his body feels raw when Cas's fingers pull over that place again. He's spreading his legs further to try to get Cas's fingers deeper inside, to get them to push over what must be his prostate, and he's not coming yet but, Jesus, he's not sure it could possibly feel better than this. Cas manages to get a third finger inside but Dean shakes his head, his voice filled with equal parts pleasure and panic when he gets words out.

"Cas, please," he groans, jerking when Cas brushes his prostate again. "Please stop, Cas. I can't take it anymore. Please—"

Cas's fingers still then slip from his body and the angel stands. Dean feels his friend's perpetual five o'clock shadow scrape his shoulder. For all Cas's bluster and demands since he got here, when the angel's voice hits Dean's ears, it's surprisingly gentle.

"What is it, Dean?" he asks. One of Cas's arms wraps around him, the hand that hadn't been inside Dean stroking a soothing path along his ribs, over his thundering heart. "What do you need?"

He's petrified to say it but he leans his forehead against Cas's cheek where he's propped his chin on Dean's shoulder; tries to tell himself that Cas won't judge him, won't hurt him. That this is why Cas is here.

"Fuck me, Cas," he pleads. "I need you to fuck me."

* * *

A/N - Okay, okay, so it's still a _bit_ of a tease, as the cliffy is evil and they haven't actually _fucked_ yet. But I promise, next chapter will be all the Bottom!Dean your smutty little hearts could want. Bottom!Dean is my favorite Dean, so I hope you enjoy.


	11. Chapter 11

A/N - All right, my babies, the moment you've been waiting for ... Bottom Dean, as promised.

But before I get to that: this chapter turned out WAY more feels-y than I planned. Like, way more. But I think you'll like it. I don't want to bias you any more, so I'll leave it at that. Stay tuned after the chapter for a few notes on where things will go from here.

~~ ** Lady Tuesday ** ~~

* * *

 **Chapter Eleven – Cas Fucks Back**

Cas turns Dean around in an instant but then stares at him so long that Dean's almost certain that Cas intends to flap away, in which case Dean is completely certain that he'll never be able to look him in the face ever again. Hell, if he did, he'd just remember how part of that face has literally been up his ass. Not to mention the fact that he'd remember all the things they've just done, how Cas makes him feel, how much it would roil in his gut to think of Cas not wanting him after all of this build up, and there's just no freaking way to come back from admitting that you want your best friend to fuck you senseless if the guy turns you down flat. Dean's one step away from complete breakdown panic when Cas clamps his hands on either side of Dean's face and stares all the way down to Dean's soul, he's positive that's what's happening.

"Be sure, Dean," Cas says desperately. His hands shake. Only a tiny bit, but Dean can feel it on his cheeks; freaking Cas and his hands are motherfucking shaking. "I need—you have be sure. If I were to have you, be with you this way, and then you changed your mind or regretted the choice, I …." Cas flinches, closes his eyes. "I could never live with it."

Dean mirrors Cas's gesture, cradles the angel's face in between his palms, then brings their foreheads together. "I'm sure, Cas. I am. Just …." he trails off, hesitant to admit it out loud, but hell, if he can't be honest with Cas, of all people …? "I'm just a little scared."

Cas opens his eyes slowly and catches Dean's gaze. "I can't promise that it won't hurt, Dean, because I just don't know. But I can promise that I will do everything I can to bring you as much pleasure as I can."

"I know, man. I know," Dean replies then chuckles. "You've done a bang-up job so far."

He slides his arms down to curl around Cas's back, and he probably would only admit it under threat of torture but it feels so freaking good to bury his face in the angel's neck and just clutch onto him. To his surprise Cas does the same, hiding his face in the hollow of Dean's throat, clasping so tightly at his shoulders that it almost hurts. When Cas speaks next, it does hurt but not his body.

"Tell me it's not just sex, Dean," Cas whispers into his skin. "I can't bear it, thinking it might just be sex."

He sounds so fucking sad that it wrenches at Dean's heart.

"Shit, Cas, if this was just about the sex, I would have had no problem taking home that kid bartender and having a hell of a one night stand, but I couldn't do it. It isn't about sex, Cas; it's about you."

It's not quite an I love you but it's damn close, especially for a Winchester. Dean tries to lean back so he can see Cas's face, but the angel resists him. Cas's breath shudders against Dean's neck for a moment, then his lips press against the spot where Dean's shoulder meets his neck. Then he sucks just below Dean's Adam's apple. By the time Cas's mouth makes it to the underside of his jaw, Dean's breathing hard again and his hips are pushing into the hand that Cas snakes down to wrap around Dean's cock. A few short steps forward for Cas and he's got Dean's back bumping into the wall. Dean's hands shove the trench coat from Cas's shoulders and the angel wriggles to help him dislodge it from his arms. Dean leans in to try to kiss the angel but much to Dean's surprise Cas wrenches away.

"Dean," he chides, sounding slightly scandalized. "You can't kiss me, I've just had my mouth—"

Dean chortles. "Fuck if I care right now." He leans in again and Cas dodges. "Hell, Cas, sex is best when it's a little dirty." Because the angel still looks skeptical, Dean adds, "Also, I had literally just gotten out of the shower when you showed up and decided to christen my undercarriage for me. Between the shower and the tongue bath, trust me, it's all good."

Cas scowls but lets Dean pull him back in.

"Now God damn it, get over here and kiss me."

Whether Cas believes him or just can't be bothered to argue anymore, the angel dives in for another soul-stealing kiss. The stroke of Cas's tongue against Dean's makes him feel electrified, his muscles jumpy and watery at the same time as jittery fingers start peeling away Cas's tie. The noise of it, rasping at Cas's collar as it pulls away, and the silky feel under Dean's fingers are just like his fantasy and the thought of that makes his breath hitch in his throat.

Cas's hands work to unbutton his cuffs as Dean starts yanking at the line of buttons down Cas's chest, and this time it's Cas who gasps as Dean sucks on Cas's jaw, his throat, his neck. Cas looks like he's wrestling the damn dress shirt but it's finally on the floor, Cas's bare chest pressed against him as he winds his fingers into the angel's hair, clutching and clawing at him as their tongues battle again. Cas starts to make for his belt but it's taking too damn long, so Dean just reaches down and grabs handfuls of Cas's ass, dragging him against Dean so he can feel Cas's answering hardness, chafe their groins together until they both groan from it. Cas grunts, low and needy, against Dean's shoulder and, Jesus, just hearing him making such an animalistic noise drives Dean fucking crazy. Opening up his legs to let Cas step between them – Cas is close, but not close enough, damn it – Dean groans when Cas grabs Dean's left thigh with a firm hand, Cas's palm skimming across the thick muscle to dig into his ass and pull up. Dean winds his leg around Cas's waist on instinct – and really, where the hell did that instinct come from? – and before he knows it, he's standing on just the toes of his right foot, damn near dangling off the ground, with more than half his weight supported on Cas's slender hips and taut thigh.

"Whoa!" Dean can't help that he practically shouts; being airborne during sex hasn't exactly come up before. "Holy shit."

Cas looks up, startled, from where he's been sucking at Dean's earlobe in, okay, a really fucking awesome manner. "What's the matter?" he asks, honestly perplexed.

Dean chuffs a little laugh and looks down between the two of them. "Cas, man, I've only ever been with women, I'm six-foot-one, and I weigh two bills and change; being lifted up and fucked against a wall? Never even considered that as an option before."

"Oh," Cas replies, his face clearing. "Well, I suppose that it's convenient that this vessel is male, then. And supernaturally strong."

"Yeah, convenient," Dean says and scrubs a hand across his face. He can't help but smile though. "What the hell even is my life anymore?"

Cas's brow wrinkles. "Am I supposed to answer that?"

Dean's mouth melts into a rueful grin and he presses it against Cas's lips. "Cas, don't ever change." And because Dean thinks that maybe now he can get away with it, he adds, "But seriously, can you speed it up? Because I've been like two inches from coming for about an hour now and my balls are probably so blue they could be featured on the Smurfs."

Cas's face is fierce again. "I thought we talked about your impatience, Dean. And my lack of mercy."

Dean shudders when Cas effortlessly picks up his other leg, hoisting Dean completely into the air; Dean just coils it around Cas's waist and heaves an unsteady breath.

"You know what? Your Smitey Face kind of does it for me."

And there's that predatory smile that makes Dean's heart skip in his chest.

"Cas?" Dean starts to ask but stops for a second, trying to find the words.

Cas just tilts his head sideways in question and waits silently.

"Could you, um …?"

A rosy blush spreads over Dean's face, and because he really can't bring himself to say the words, he just lifts his hands over his head, clasps his wrists together against the wall, and gives Cas a little eyebrow quirk that says, What do you think? This time, Cas doesn't even have to flick his hands; an invisible pressure squeezes down on Dean's wrists and he's pinned there like a butterfly again. The force of Cas's Grace isn't the only thing holding him to the wall, though, and Dean can't help but notice the hot rising of Cas's flesh beneath where his weight rests on the angel's hips.

Dean's voice turns husky. "I think we need to get you out of those pants. Quickly."

Somehow, Cas's manages to maneuver around Dean's legs without unseating him, plastering his lips against Dean's neck to resume licking and sucking and kissing. Dean hears the telltale snick of metal and fabric working against each other and then a muffled clunk of Cas's belt as the pants hit the floor. Dean's a tad more concerned with surviving the onslaught of Cas's mouth all over his chest as he rocks his unbearably stiff cock against Cas's stomach, searching for some kind of relief. He doesn't get much, but he sure as hell needs something. Cas must mojo away whatever underwear he's wearing because pressing against Dean's ass is Cas's erection and it seems so much harder and longer and thicker pressed up near where it's supposed to go than it did rubbing against his own, and he's trying not to panic but damn it, he's panicking just a little. He crushes their mouths back together, trying to lose himself in the slide of Cas's tongue, and it mostly works but then reality comes crashing down on him again and he pulls away to curse.

"Aw, damn it!" Dean growls against Cas's ear. "I forgot about—" he pulls at the bonds he forgot were there in an aborted gesture towards his bag. "Condoms, lube. We're going to need them to—"

Cas's reaches out towards Dean's bag, and with a tiny glance in that direction the small bottle and a foil package just freaking appear in his outstretched hand.

"Well, that's a pretty damn convenient trick," Dean smirks, and he'll admit, he's impressed. "You Luke Skywalkered the shit out of that and I wish I could say that doesn't make you even hotter."

"And I even understood the reference," Cas quips in response. "Although, I draw the line at force-choking you."

"Dude, Cas," Dean chortles. "You've gotta stop. I don't think I can handle you making Star Wars references during sex."

"Will you dress up as Slave Leia sometime?" Cas asks with a lopsided grin as he tosses the condom aside for a moment to focus on the small plastic bottle in his hand.

Dean knows he should be pissed at the idea that he's being cast as the chick in this scenario, but he can't help but laugh. "Oh yeah, baby; talk nerdy to me."

Cas fumbles with the lube before managing to coat his fingers with a slippery slide of the liquid. The angel's face pinches with nerves just a tiny bit as he runs his slick fingers between their bodies and makes a gentle circle around Dean's entrance. Dean still feels pretty god-damned good from earlier, so Cas's finger slides in pretty easy and he can't really be mad about that. Only a few strokes and Dean's pressing into Cas's palm, so finger number two makes an appearance; Cas manages to find the sweet spot pretty damn quick and if Dean weren't wound so tight, he might be a little embarrassed at how loud he moans when he rocks up against Cas's belly. Cas doesn't even make it to the third finger. Dean is writhing and whimpering against Cas's hands, his muscles a bit shaky from exertion and anticipation, and he needs to cut this short because they've waited too long already.

"Cas, man, come on," Dean mumbles into the stupid sex hair, where patches are starting to  
plaster to the angel's head with sweat. "Just … just do it, I want you to…."

"I know, Dean, but—" Cas is shaking now, too; his thighs trembling not with the strain of holding Dean up – hell, he could probably do that for hours; days, maybe – but probably with the same anticipation and eagerness as Dean. "I don't know if you're ready."

Dean uses his chin to prod at Cas's temple and the angel glances up to his eyes. "Cas, please. I don't care if it hurts. I just," he gulps, can't believe that these words leap to his tongue but forces them out, "I just want to feel you inside me. Now."

Cas's chest heaves as he breathes, never taking his eyes away from Dean's as he thrusts out a hand to 'summon' the condom from wherever the hell he dropped it. Cas fidgets with it between Dean's legs for a minute and then Dean feels it, the firm, relentless pressure of Cas's erection against his opening. Dean clenches his eyes shut and turns his face up to the ceiling as Cas starts to press in. He doesn't know what would be in his expression and he doesn't want Cas to see him afraid, to think that they should stop. A punched out gasp leaves him when Cas makes a small thrust, the ridge at the head of his dick snagging at his entrance when Cas stops moving. It's tight and hot and it stings like hell; it's not exactlyawful but it sure as hell ain't good yet, and Dean's trying not to pant but he can't seem to get enough breath. And Jesus, Cas is only about a quarter of the way inside, and how the hell could he manage—?

"Dean." Cas's voice sounds soft and the touch of his fingers on Dean's cheek are just as gentle. "Dean, look at me."

His tone is tender, but it's a command nonetheless so Dean does it.

"It will ease if you can relax," Cas directs him.

Dean frowns and looks away. "I know, I'm sorry; I'm trying, I just—"

"That's exactly it," Cas interjects, "you're trying. If you could just—"

"Just get this beginning part over with, Cas," Dean grunts gruffly. "I know you're trying to be gentle and that's sweet and all, but seriously, just … just get it over with so I can adjust and then we can get to the good shit."

Cas scowls at him but seems to see the logic in it; or if not, he acquiesces to Dean's request to get past his anxiety. With a sharp snap of the angel's hips, Cas thrusts himself fully inside Dean and then pulls back to watch Dean's face. Dean, on the other hand, clamps his eyes shut and just tries to breathe deep and relax. After a few seconds of silence broken only by Cas's steady breaths and Dean's hitching gulps, Dean cracks one eye open. Cas stares at him from barely an inch away, brow scrunched in thought, and then when he catches Dean's gaze, his expression clears and he seems resolute.

Cas leans forward and presses their lips together. This kiss has something that none of their others so far has: it's passionate and seductive, yes, but there's just so much … just so much in it than Dean feels shattered. His heart squeezes, his eyes prickle (god damn it, he's not crying during sex! He's not Sam!), and he feels like he can't breathe for an entirely different reason than before. One of Cas's hands slides down Dean's belly to cup his erection, stroke him back to fullness (he hadn't even realized that he'd mostly gone soft with all the anxiety). And okay, it's starting to feel better, and the more Cas licks at his mouth and strokes at his cock the more the pain eases, but he can't help but think isn't it supposed to be better than this? Would so many gay guys do this if it hurt all the time? Somewhere during Dean's internal monologue, Cas's other hand slides between their bellies and under Dean's leg. The 'sneaky hand', as Dean now thinks of it, tugs gently at his testicles – earning a groan – but then presses two fingers to the rim of Dean's entrance. Then a cold tingle. Weird. Almost as if Cas is—

Dean wrenches his mouth away from a truly amazing kiss to scold the angel.

"Cas, are you mojo-healing my ass?!"

Cas gives him a blank and yet somehow unrepentant stare. "I thought it might help you relax."

"You mean you thought it would let you fuck me sooner."

"That would be an excellent side benefit of you being more relaxed."

Dean tries to be mad. He really does. He just ends up smothering a grin, saying, "That is such an abuse of angel powers, dude."

Cas shrugs, smiles. "I see it as utilizing an available resource." A beat of silence, then, "Did it help?"

Dean's brows furrow then lift when Cas gives him a shallow thrust and Dean feels … oh, man. That feels good.

"Yes, god damn it," Dean says sullenly, but the tone disappears on a gasp when Cas gives another little push. "Fuck."

"That's the idea."

"Still an abuse of p-ah!-power," Dean gulps out, trying not to whimper at the unfamiliar sensation of the head of Cas's cock dragging against his rim as Cas pulls almost all the way out and then slides back in again.

Dean's head thunks back against the wall and he decides he's content to let Cas do all the work for a few minutes, just resting on the angel's hips, his hands clenching and unclenching above his head, unconsciously mimicking the ripple of Cas's thighs as the angel rolls his whole lower body in long, slow thrusts against Dean. Cas seems totally at home in his body right now, bearing Dean's weight easily on his thighs as they work to hold Dean up, stroking down on Dean's cock as he thrusts up into him, making Dean's eyes roll back in his head as he just rides the wave of the angel's body. Despite only being with one person – as far as Dean is aware – Cas seems to be surprisingly intuitive with how his body should move during sex, something that took Dean years to really learn himself; to be fair, he'd been a gawky teenager at the time. Still, for someone who's awkward as hell about literally everything else except fighting, the fact that Cas is a natural at fucking is just plain unfair.

"Okay, I've got to admit, I'm going to go ahead and fully endorse your shameless cheating because this feels …."

If he's really honest with himself, Dean would say that this feels a whole lot less like fucking and a whole lot more like … God, he doesn't even want to think the term, it's so rom-com.

"Jesus H. Christ," Dean punches out, trying to push away the fear that seems second nature when he thinks that L word. He focuses on accentuating the bump of Cas's hips against his ass with each word.

He arches his back and lets out a groan, Cas sinking deeper inside. Cas moans; Dean gasps. He almost wishes he hadn't had Cas pin his hands to the wall because with these slow rolling slides in and out, Dean really, really wants to just knead at Cas's shoulders and let his body move with it. He changes his mind, however, when Cas seems to have reached the end of his tether and the thrusts pick up speed. As Cas's motions get faster, Dean gets more and more of a jolt with each thrust. Cas's fingers dig into one of Dean's hips so hard he'll be bruised and the one wrapped around his cock practically flies. This? This would be fucking, and damn it, Cas is good at that too. He pants into Dean's shoulder, hunched over to get as much leverage as he can out of his thrusts, and the room fills with the harsh slap of their bodies meeting over and over again. Even hearing the way they crash together helps push Dean towards the edge. The peak dances just out his reach and he tries not to strain to reach for it, just riding the rough buck of Cas's hips, but Cas takes his hand away from Dean's cock and a whine leaves Dean's throat. God damn it, he's so close.

Without stopping or even slowing his thrusts, Cas reaches underneath Dean and pushes two fingers back against his body, but this time it's just beneath his testicles, and Dean lets out a burst of noise as he gets a sudden shock of pleasure. Cas is nowhere near his prostate, so how—?

"God. Damn. It. Cas!" he gasps out, jolting against each thrust. "Now you're mojo-ing my damn prostate?! That is so cheating!"

Cas slows his thrusts enough to give Dean a wry eyebrow semaphore. "How is that cheating?"

"Because if the positions were reversed, I couldn't just tap two fingers under your nuts and give you insta-orgasm! It's cheating!"

"You haven't climaxed yet—"

"Not the point, Cas."

"—and what I'm hearing," he says as if Dean hasn't spoken, "is 'I'm jealous.'"

Dean opens his mouth to continue bickering but knows he's not going to be able to win an argument with Cas like this. What he can do is be just as sneaky though.

"Okay, man. I mean, I guess if you can't hit it with your cock, you can take a short cut."

Cas scowls and stops moving all together. "This position and angle are not conducive to—"

Cas's words screech to a halt when he comprehends the insult. His eyes narrow and he flicks a hand towards Dean's pinned wrists. The sudden change of pressure causes Dean to collapse forward onto Cas's shoulders, but obviously, the angel is ready for it. Cas spins on one foot and carries Dean effortlessly the short walk to the bed. Hell, he doesn't even dislodge himself from where he's still buried balls-deep inside Dean … and if that's not a sentence Dean never expected to have run through his head, he doesn't know what is.

Cas crouches over him on the bed like a fucking angry tiger and skims his palms along Dean's inner thighs to spread his legs in a wide fan around Cas's rib cage. Cas gives him a steady, livid glare as he plants a hand on either side of Dean's shoulders, takes a moment to angle his hips, and then gives a sharp forward thrust. Dean grunts because he'd swear that he sees spots dance in front of his eyes as his whole lower body quivers.

"Did I hit it, Dean?" Cas growls.

Another sharp thrust from Cas; another groaning grunt from Dean.

"Did I?"

Thrust. Groan.

"What about now? And this time? How about now?"

He punctuates each question with a thrust, first jolting and separate but soon, they meld together until Dean's nerves feel like a chime that keeps being struck before it's stopped ringing. Cas lowers himself so he's only a breath away from Dean's face.

"You are infuriating ," he grouses.

Dean's lips quirk up because he sees right through the façade. "And sexy," he says, trying to keep his voice steady enough to carry the humor.

There it is, a hint of the soft fondness in Cas's eyes; there's the real Cas. The angel's lips quirk up just a teeny bit, as if he wants to smile, but refuses to give in. So of course, Dean kicks it up a notch and says something he would only have the balls to say at a moment like this.

"And I need you," Dean breathes, bringing their foreheads together. "Love isn't enough, Cas. I need you like I need air to breathe."

Cas lets out a windy gust of breath and presses their lips together, but it's not really a kiss. They just sort of pass the moist air back and forth between their mouths, taking each other into their lungs as Cas strains to bring them both to release. Dean wraps one hand around his cock to stroke himself and winds the other into Cas's hair, keeping their heads together as he crashes over the edge. What feels like every muscle in his body clenching at the same time punches all the breath from Dean's body; it almost feels like suffocating for a moment, and then he dimly registers Cas's answering wordless gasp of noise as he comes. A tremor like a fucking earthquake shakes through Cas above him and the angel clamps a hand over Dean's left shoulder, right where that fucking handprint used to be. Dean feels a shock like electrocution, seizes up, and his whole field of vision goes white.

* * *

A/N - So! You like? I like ^_^ Keep it tuned here, as there will be two more chapters - a post-mortem, as it were, with some Destiel pillow talk (a bit angsty, but still fluffy, as per usual) and an epilogue that had me giggling the entire time I wrote it.


	12. Chapter 12

A/N - all right, my babies, this is the last "proper" chapter, with the epilogue coming next. I have to admit, the epilogue is the chapter that I had the most FUN writing, so I hope you like it. Seeing as how this is the end of the actual plot line (the epilogue is a wrap-up that made me smile), I will still post the epilogue tomorrow (Monday).

Enjoy,  
~~ ** Lady Tuesday ** ~~

* * *

 **Chapter Twelve – La Not-So-Petite Mort**

He might possibly be dead. Although… breathing. So not dead. But nothing seems to work just yet. He can't see? Oh. Eyes not open. Colossal effort, though, pulling his eyelids back, but worth it, because Cas hovers over him with a happy, strangely relieved expression. He tries to smile but his face feels too tired right now so he just looks back up at Cas and blinks. He's got pretty eyes. Nice face, too. Poor Jimmy, it was his face first. Could definitely get down with riding that face in, like, forty or fifty years when he can move again. Hrmm, though. Misuse of Jimmy's face? Not like the guy could protest. Can you send a thank you fruit basket to Heaven for great sex? Whenever Dean does die and, presumably, makes it back to Heaven, he'll have to thank the guy. Although, how would that conversation go? _Thanks for loaning my bestie your body. Yeah, we fucked like beasts and it was awesome, so we put it to good use. You know, after that whole Death by Angel-splosion to Save the World thing. Sorry your body is banging dudes without your consent, but hey! At least you weren't in there at the time. But Cas says it feels great, so …. Nice work on the man-scaping by the way. My asshole appreciates the lack of rug burn. Anyway, thanks._ It seems a little … callous.

Of course, Dean's not a proper gauge of good sex manners apparently. I mean, he just had pushy, slightly angry sex with his favorite person in the world – aside from Sam, obviously – and judging from the state of the room around him, it may have been a bit earth-shattering. Also, Dean has at one point banged what was essentially Cas's sister. So yeah, maybe Dean's not an authority on the Emily Post of sex.

Cas is talking to him. Should probably focus on that. Can't seem to. Maybe Dean had something right when he thought that having sex with Cas might actually do him some harm. Shit, Cas is starting to look worried. Better do _something._ Dean reaches up – hurray! Motor skills are working again! – and runs a finger around Cas's bottom lip. He smiles because he wants to kiss that lip, but he doesn't really have the energy to move. Cas breathes a shaky sigh of relief, so Dean must look better than when he came around a minute ago.

The brain-cell frying theory might hold some water, though, because the first thing Dean manages to say is, "Do you care that I had sex with your sister all those years ago?"

Bless him, Cas only looks mildly startled at the question.

"Should I?"

"I was kinda hoping not," Dean answers, and notices how rough his voice sounds. "But I figured I should ask."

Cas's brow wrinkles and he lays two fingers to Dean's temple. "Are you delirious in some way I'm unable to detect?"

Dean manages an unsteady chuckle. "Not that I know of; why?"

A thick frown. "Because you were out so long I started to be genuinely worried, and then when you do wake, you ask about a sexual experience with Anna from eight years ago. It is a non-sequitur to say the least."

"You worry too much," Dean says, smiling. "I just needed some time to reboot after a face-melting orgasm. You should take it as a compliment."

"Dean, you were completely unresponsive for nine minutes. I believe my worry was justified."

Dean rockets up, and immediately regrets it because damn his muscles feel stiff. "Nine minutes?!"

Cas nods, his brow still pinched with concern.

"Damn," Dean replies, baffled. "Felt like about nine seconds. Okay, some of that was a really insanely wandering inner monologue, but it was all about how awesome the sex was, so again, _compliment."_

Cas smiles a bit, but lays a hand against Dean's cheek; his palm feels cool against Dean's heated skin.

"Are you sure you're all right? I did try healing you already, just in case there was something actually wrong, but you seemed fine. Just … unresponsive."

"I'm fine. Promise."

Dean lays back down and scoots up the bed so he can lay against the pillows. They're scratchy, but they'll do. He yanks on Cas's wrist until Cas joins him, pulling the angel into his side until he feels Cas's head rest on the pocket of his shoulder.

"Okay, so … what the hell happened? All I remember is that you put your hand on my shoulder and when you came, it felt like I was freaking electrocuted."

At that, Cas turns his face into Dean's arm, weirdly sheepish, and clears his throat before speaking.

"I never properly explained to you … When I brought you out of Hell, Dean, it was after a great deal of battle—"

"Yeah, 'vanquished countless scores of minions of Hell in order to liberate me'," Dean says gruffly. "So I heard."

"Yes, but … Dean, the print on your shoulder wasn't a result of the battle with the creatures of Hell."

Something in Cas's voice pricks Dean's attention so he leans up on an elbow to look down at him. Dean gives him a silent expression to go ahead.

"You fought me, Dean. You wanted to stay."

Dean is speechless. Honest-to-Chuck, struck dumb.

"In order to subdue you, I cradled you to my chest," Cas demonstrates by flipping Dean away from him, wrapping his right arm across Dean's chest, and clutching at his left shoulder, "and pulled you up with me. As a result, I had to use some of my Grace to … bind you to me, I suppose you would say."

"Bind?!" And okay, that sounds way more harsh and panicky than Dean means it to, but after quasi-bondage sex and sort-of declarations of love, it sounds a little too rape-y right now.

Cas turns Dean back over to look him in the face. "Not in the manner of a compulsion, Dean, just…." He trails off, searching for words, then regroups. "You had spent so long under torment and your soul was so ravaged and warped by torture, that you were half-mad with grief and anger. I imprinted your skin with my Grace so that you would feel its goodness, recognize me as an ally. So you would know that I was there to bring you into the light."

"Jesus, Cas," Dean says, because it's all he can think of to say.

Cas reaches out a hand towards Dean's face and he's so tentative as he stretches out his fingers, as if afraid that Dean will shy away, that Dean feels a tear trickle down his cheek. Cas thumbs it away and leaves his hand there; Dean leans into the touch.

"I can't be sure, but I believe that even with my print on you gone, some of my Grace still lingers in your skin. A sexual climax has the potential to be a very potent thing under normal circumstances, but with what passes between us—"

"Profound bond and all," Dean smirks.

"Mmm," Cas agrees, "a connection of that nature then added upon by the linking of my Grace with that which still lives in your skin? It's a powerful thing. A very powerful thing." Cas lets the hand on Dean's face slide down his arm to wrap around his back. "Although I am sorry that it seemed to affect you in such an unfortunate way. I was very concerned about you."

" 'M good now," he says and leans his forehead in towards Cas. The angel presses a kiss to it before leaning his own against Dean's.

"So yeah," Dean says after a long moment of quiet. "That, uh … that was pretty spectacular."

"Yes, it was," Cas confirms and seems content to leave it at that.

Dean bites his lip for a second before thinking _fuck it_ and saying, "Cas, can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

Dean clears his throat. "Where the hell did you learn that stuff?"

Cas leans back and quirks an eyebrow at him. "What 'stuff'?"

"Well, I know you said you'd never given a blow job, but you clearly had a good idea of what to do and … uh … the other thing …."

He doesn't want to be shy talking about this because Cas just had his tongue up Dean's ass a bit ago, but he can't seem to make himself say it. Cas and his lack of social graces to the rescue.

"Oh," Cas says, realizing Dean's meaning. "The—"

 _Please don't say the clinical term,_ Dean thinks, _please Chuck don't say 'analingus'._

Dean didn't intend to actually pray but Cas must hear him because he grins a little and says, "Rim job?"

"Yeah, that," Dean mumbles, red in the face.

Weirdly, Cas blushes too, sheepishly turning his face back in towards Dean's shoulder. "I may have spent some of my free time over the last few weeks watching more movies." When Dean makes a noise of confusion, Cas clarifies, "Of the Pizza Man variety. You inspired me to … research."

A helpless laugh bursts out of Dean's mouth. "You spent weeks 'researching' gay porn to learn how to lick someone's ass?"

Cas gazes at him with a strangely serious expression. "Not someone's, Dean; _yours._ And it wasn't just that; I wanted to make sure that when we did have sex, I could please you. So I researched various techniques on how to achieve—"

"Okay, awkward. But hot," Dean concedes. "Which is you in a nutshell, I guess."

Cas huffs but smiles as he settles back down onto Dean's shoulder. They're both quiet for a long time and it feels … comfortable.

Eventually, though, Cas speaks again. "No regrets?"

"Of course not," Dean answers instantly. Something pops into his head that causes him to laugh, though.

"What?" Cas asks, scooting back to look him in the eye.

"Don't get me wrong, Cas, the whole Scowly, Smitey, Respect My Angelic Hotness thing definitely worked for me, and," Dean colors in the cheeks, "I liked having you fuck me more than I thought I would – like, way more – but … I mean, some of those fantasies, particularly the one in the car … I would really, really love it if some of those could happen. So, uh, you are going to let _me_ fuck _you_ some time, right?"

Cas gives him a lopsided smirk. "Yes, Dean. But not today."

Dean tries not to look put out and fails.

Cas's face takes on Smitey Bitchface again. "Even if you did acquiesce to my position on control and dominance, I'm not particularly convinced that you learned your lesson about patience." Cas waits a beat, his face never even twitching, before he adds, "Besides, I never did get to carry out my threat to push you to your knees and thrust between those very enticing lips of yours."

Yeah, the blushing, it gets so much worse. Damn, who knew Cas of all people would take to sexy talk so easily? "Well, hell, I won't be able to get it up for at least another fifteen or twenty minutes anyway. I've never done it before but I could certainly, uh, give it a try while we wait for me to recover."

Cas props up on an elbow. "Recover?"

"Yeah, you probably didn't have sex enough as a human to discover that disappointing detail." Dean grumbles as he continues. "In my teens and twenties, my refractory period was like ten minutes tops; now I have to wait a good twenty minutes before Little Dean gets with the fucking program. Sometimes half an hour. Fucking middle age."

Cas uses his free hand to tap two fingers to Dean's forehead. "And thus, you are recovered," he says with a small smirk.

Dean shoots up next to Cas and does a quick self-evaluation. Cas trails a light skim of fingers from Dean's thigh, around the curve of his ass, over his hip bone and heading towards his cock which, wonder of wonders, gives an interested twitch. Cas leans forward and takes Dean's bottom lip between his teeth momentarily and now Little Dean is way more than interested.

"Cas, did you mojo away my Refractory period?!"

"Not indefinitely, but for the next few hours or so."

Dean's eyebrows practically hit his hairline. "So for the next few hours, I could just keep going and going and going—"

"And coming and coming and coming," Cas confirms with a chuckle.

"Hot damn," Dean says, and then pounces forward, pushing Cas onto his back and pinning him to the mattress. "You are," he says, planting kisses that trail from the angel's jaw down his chest, "without doubt," tonguing over his nipples earns Dean a heavy inhalation, "the best thing," a bite to his middle has Cas's stomach muscles bunching, "to ever happen to my sex life."

Dean smooths out his tongue over Cas's 'happy trail' and sucks hard. The angel groans and curls up off the mattress again, but spread his legs to allow Dean to lie down between them.

"Well, so long as you're aware," Cas says in a gasping voice as Dean takes Cas's length into his mouth.

* * *

A/N - Obviously this has gone AU now that season 12 is in progress, but I feel like it still fits into what season 12 COULD have started out. That being said, once I start on the next 5+1 that will make up the first of the two sequels, it will be full AU. I haven't decided whether I want to bother dealing with Mary yet ... so tune in to find out. The 5+1 is already outlined, so hopefully won't take TOO long to get it up and running.


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